Searching For A Purpose
by Corran Horn 62
Summary: After the events of the Dark Nest Trilogy, Jagged Fel is left hopeless and adrift. But as the Legacy era begins, circumstances sweep him up once more in the fight to preserve the Jedi.
1. Chapter One: Adrift

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize is owned by George Lucas. Anything you don't is owned by me, though what I will do with it, I don't know. I'm not writing this to make a profit, and I'm not pretending to be a prophet, so no flaming is allowed! Feedback and constructive criticism, however, is mandatory.

The purpose of this fiction? Mostly just to satisfy a writing urge that grips me once in a while. I intend to write a bit about Jagged Fel during the period between The Joiner King and Betrayal. I also intend to drag in a few Jedi and a certain Sith Lady, so watch out! Comment, please!

Chapter One: Repercussions

_The dark figure stood quietly, considering his actions. If he was discovered, it could well mean the end of his life. If what he had just done ever came to the light – what an ironic turn of phrase – he could well lose more than just his life. But he had done what he must. If he had not, she might never have known the truth. He intended for her to learn it; at least, the one that he chose. For if she ever learned the _real_ truth, he would be lucky if the only thing she did to him was to kill him. That is, if her mother or father did not get to him, first. _

"Never trust a Jedi."

The bartender glanced up quizzically. A human male sat at a table three or four meters away, in the same place as he had been all night. He was of unremarkable height, with naturally black hair – though the single white forelock could have been artificial, despite it's alignment with the large scar that slashed through his otherwise handsome features, lending him a dangerous air – and unsettlingly piercing blue eyes. His demeanor spoke of a disciplined lifestyle, and even while in the grips of whatever he wished to forget, he had not touched the second glass in front of him. Physically fit, he had an air of readiness about him, that could have sprung from a life of military readiness – not uncommon, only a few short years after the Vong War and even less time after the Killik Crisis – or from a life of crime. He had been an unremarkable customer, indistinguishable in character from the hundreds of sapient beings who came here to forget their troubles and woes. The bartender, an experienced profiler, had dismissed him as the type to cause trouble.

That had just changed.

The Jedi had been feared and hated even when they were thousands strong in the Old Republic. After the Emperor and Darth Vader, conditions had only worsened. Accusation and prejudices had haunted them ever since, even after they proved themselves in the Yuuzhan Vong debacle, which had left the galaxy reeling. While the public had needed them, when they had saved them, there had been a brief time of public love and approval, which had gradually faded away. After the Killik Crisis, of course, rumors had arisen about Jedi who lacked human feelings, Jedi who did not care about people, only abstract concepts of higher purpose. But that was ridiculous. Borleias had left an indelible impression on the bartender, and he would never doubt the Jedi. And he would never allow a challenge to his heroes to go unanswered.

"Trust a Jedi? That's the worst mistake you could ever make."

He appeared to be speaking to the holocaster, whose unnaturally perfect features dominated the screen behind the counter. She was reporting yet another unbelievable Jedi action that had struck a blow for the cause of peace. Apparently, a pirate had run up against the wrong people, and now lived to regret it.

The man's hair was shaggy, and looked as if it had not been cut for weeks. His face was sad, and unshaven. His eyes were bleary, bloodshot, and held a surreal combination of sorrow and danger. The clothes he wore, though relatively clean, were old and worn. He would have been exceptionally handsome were it not for his battle scars, his apparent neglect, and his depression. He seemed alert, and now seemed poised on the edge of violence, ready for action. His ID had said that he was not past his thirtieth lifeday, but he acted like a man who had seen two lifetimes of sorrow, and had been through unspeakable tragedies.

"No honor. But I was blind."

He had definitely had enough. Like it or not, Ikondres decided, this guy was definitely on his way out.

He was staring at a holocube that he held cupped in his palm.

"Did you _ever_ love me? Or was I just a crutch for you to lean on?"

The bartender had been about to move towards him. But the last words froze him right where he stood. Jedi? Love? He had never considered a Jedi in love, though he knew that they had married; often to other Jedi. This man could not have been speaking of a Jedi loving him. Jedi did not love normal people. They were their own universe.

--------------------------------

His eyes detected motion. From the edge of his field of vision, the bartender was approaching.

Apparently, he had been speaking his thoughts aloud. He must indeed have fallen far to allow such a grievous breach of self-control. For a bleak moment, he remembered his life, his family; but then the black abyss at the back of his mind reached up and swallowed the memories, tinting them gray, then washing them out in a black tide. _"You will live out the final days of your life in despair, helpless, knowing only that your honor has failed and your life has come to nothing; and that the woman you loved has betrayed you." _

He didn't know where the stray thought had come from, but it sounded fairly accurate. So far, the predictions inside were well on their way to fruition.

"Hey. Buddy."

His fingers flashed, and the holocube disappeared as if it had never existed. He looked up to find the bartender, who had somehow crossed the intervening space without him noticing. Pudge looked grim, menacing. He sighed, defeated. He was about to be kicked out of another bar.

"I don't know who you are or what you're trying to forget, but you're going to have to do it somewhere else. I've always supported the Jedi, and I won't have your kind in here, do you understand me? So you can get your _shebs_ up off that chair and get moving, before I do it for you."

The words rolled away from the seated man like water away from a shore, leaving no discernible trace behind. If they affected him at all, he wasn't about to show it.

"The Jedi are greater than you can possibly comprehend, pal, and I doubt that you could ever be half as honorable. If you-"

The dark tide of ruin brought on by the man's words elicited no expression; but he looked up at the bartender, words coming with considered slowness out of his mouth.

"If the Jedi were so honorable, I wouldn't be there. If Jedi were so great, they would never have fallen so far."

"You can't blame those di'kutla Vong on the Jedi, you blind idiot!" Pudgeman was squeaking in outrage. "The Jedi are the ones who-"

His mind pulled back from the dark journey it had been taken. That time had been an aberration, a moment when she was emotionally vulnerable. He had just been something to lean on. Regardless, he couldn't stand it anymore.

"You look like a fat version of Booster Terrik."

The chances that the barkeep would know the name were nearly astronomical. Any Corellian would have been disappointed when the fat man showed no other reaction than a brief splutter at the word 'fat.'

"You're drunk!"

"You brought me my drink. Singular. Which is still sitting in front of me, half-full. You know I'm not. So leave me alone, or face the consequences."

He shouldn't have said that. If the man thought he was drunk, it would be an advantage. He could see no reason in whatever planet this was that he would need one, but it would have been nice anyways. Most aces were shot down by rookie pilots.

"You can walk out the door or you can be thrown out. Choose, _kar'laka_!"

Another fight. Bacta treatment. Police hassle. A night in jail.

Who cared?

A hand clamped on his shoulder and hauled him out of his chair, dumping him unceremoniously on the floor, interrupting his rebel dreams. He was hauled, none too gently, towards the door. Towards a world which did not care, a universe which kept on moving, unaffected by the grief and care of those inhabiting it.

His uncle, decades ago, had faced a situation where he could do something about that uncaring galaxy, affect the course of history. He hadn't known it at the time, but he would become a rebel, standing firm for peace, justice, and security.

He had no such option. His life and heart were shattered, and no proton torpedo or blaster, no thermal detonator, no combat skill, could fix it; unless he used them on himself. And that was something he would never do.

That didn't mean, though, that he couldn't 'enjoy' himself once in a while. A cold, predatory smile crept across his face and he moved.

Ikondres looked down at the unresisting, helpless man that he held firmly. He was limp, being dragged along by the collar of his well-worn clothes; but there had been a slight shift just now. He started to look back to the door, but his eye was caught by motion at the corner of his view. He looked down just in time to see his captive reach up with both arms and grip his forearm, as strong as a cargo droid. As the man twisted it in a peculiar manner, a jagged lightning bolt twisted its way up his arm into his shoulder, and his knees buckled under a white wave of agony that rushed to his brain, sweeping away thought and reason.

Jae Juun was not happy. He had been sitting in the bar, out of the way at a table in the back, facing outwards so he could scan the room, for three and a half minutes. The procedure for this meeting clearly stipulated that the exposure time be as short as possible. If he found out that Saba Sebatyne was late because she was hunting some weird little furry thing, he was going to let Tarfang loose on her. And if she didn't show up in the next minute and a half, he was going to –

A short, excited chitter broke his chain of thought. Distracted and frowning, he looked up to remind Tarfang that in _The Bounty Hunter on Ord Mantell_, Han Solo clearly demonstrated the need for unobtrusiveness and quietness on covert missions. Jae's destiny was to become a successful Intelligence operative, famous, following in the footsteps of his hero, Han Solo. But things like this idiot partner of his kept happening, kept getting in his destiny's way. Tarfang, furry though he might be, was definitely no Chewbacca.

Han Solo and destiny vanished from his mind when he saw the short, furry little Ewok standing on the table – _On the TABLE! What was he thinking? Didn't he know that Juun was going to _eat _off of that? _– and cheering on a human male who seemed to be happily engaged in fighting the entire room at once. The Ewok seemed as happy as a Ylesian Pilgrim about to receive the Exultation. Frowning, Jae considered the likelihood that Saba had arranged the fight just to annoy him – Barabels had weird senses of humor, and Barabel Jedi were no exception – and then desperately leaped after the Ewok, who, still chittering madly, had just jumped off the table onto the back of a middle-aged man. The fellow, gripping a bottle by the neck, had been about to strike at the dark-haired human. Diverted from his intended course by the yammering Ewok, the man spun around and accidentally whacked the lurching Sullustan with the bottle.

It was going to be a bad day. Juun could see it as clearly as if it was written in front of his eyeballs, where the night sky of Sullust was currently whirling around in circles.

-------------------------------------------------------

Zair Phenir had arrived nearly a full three minutes after his partner, due to a deaf, blind, and extremely dumb driver who had ignored his flashing lights, happily blocking the exit ramp, engrossed in a map console. The street outside the bar was packed full of panicked patrons and security officials. A team of reporters had already arrived, and were wheeling like krayt dragons, hungrily searching for anyone who might be able to give them their sustenance; information, and the stupider, the better. Ikondres, the owner and operator of the bar, was gesticulating wildly with one hand as he animatedly told his story to one voracious flock. The other was held at an odd angle to his body, and was heavily bandaged, swathed in bacta patches. An exasperated paramedic was attempting to reposition him, but Ikondres was enjoying his moment in the spotlight. Apparently, he couldn't see the reporters who were laughing at him.

Raal Ternos was nowhere in sight, so Zair walked past the security cordon, dodging a reporter on the way, and into the bar, where a highly entertaining sight greeted his eyes.

The large, long room had originally held seating accommodations and tables sufficient for many sentients; several of the sentients were still there, but the seats and tables were not. In their place, rows of kindling had arisen, irregularly spread about the room. In and amongst the kindling lay two dozen of the citizens that Zair Phenir had sworn to protect and defend, representing seven different species. They lay scattered around the room in various poses of peaceful-looking slumber – well, peaceful-looking if you ignored the bloody noses and smashed furniture. Zair was well enough accustomed to that to find the entire scene bursting with comic potential.

He suppressed a laugh when he saw the dazed Sullustan staggering towards him from the back of the room. The pink, hairless Sullustan – he believed it was male, though at times it was difficult to tell the difference – was swatting angrily at a black Ewok, who was using the Sullustan's left ear as a facecloth to wipe blood off of his small black nose. Both appeared to have been in the thick of things, though their reactions were markedly different; the Sullustan bore a look of disgust, while the Ewok was grinning from ear to tattered ear.

To his left, the barkeep was sprawled, out cold, on the floor. Beside him lay a Bothan, who appeared to have been stepped on by the Weequay sprawled over the low table behind the bar amongst the dispensers.

Stepping over the Bothan, he looked closer; yes, the Weequay had hit the bar so hard that it had cracked in half. That explained why it looked like the top half of an X-Wing, seen from the rear.

Several humans were lying about, scattered through the remains of the furniture, evidencing none of the discomfort they would feel upon awakening. The most serious injury appeared to have been Ikondres', though the Weequay might need medical attention.

Glancing about, he spotted his partner, Raal Ternos. Breathtakingly beautiful, she had remained oblivious to his interest in her for the entire time they partnered together. A tall, slim blonde whose features possessed an indefinably pleasing symmetry, she was patting down a human male, who stood quietly in stun cuffs, and appeared on the verge of a smile. His raised eyebrow – bisected by a jagged scar that slashed across his forehead – expressed a cool amusement at the condition of the shattered barroom. Raal seemed to be enjoying herself a little too much, carefully checking the man for hidden weapons, so Zair started towards her, trying not to look like a lovestruck nerf. He had made only three strides when the Sullustan intercepted him, still attached to the Ewok. Distracted, Zair tried to point him outside the door, and kept moving. The round little fellow had a good grip on Zair's nerfhide jacket, though, and he wasn't letting go. Forced to pay attention, Phenir became aware of a dispute between the unlikely pair; the Sullustan was discussing heatedly 'the correct procedures to be followed when civilian distractions interrupt our mission,' until the Ewok whacked him on the side of the head and growled fiercely, pointing to Zair and, presumably, the security ID attached to the outside of his otherwise civilian clothing. Drawing himself up officiously, the Sullustan began to self-importantly explain the situation.

Between discourses on procedure, bits and pieces of fact came out. The Sullustan was the one who had initially called in the report about the fight, after he was viciously attacked by a three meter tall human male whose muscular structure had been apparently been genetically enhanced, whose brutality matched that of a Yuuzhan Vong Warmaster.

The Ewok gargled something incomprehensible, to which the Sullustan disdainfully replied that he had had a better view. From the Sullustan's end of the conversation, (To Zair Phenir, Ewokese sounded like five drunker Bith singers inhaling Tibanna gas) he gained the unlikely conclusion that the Ewok had been riding piggyback on the 'monster' at the time of the assault. Though he couldn't understand a word that the fuzzball was squeaking, Phenir liked him…he was a lot funnier than the gentle Ewoks of holotoon fame. If Ewoks were all like this guy, it was a wonder that they hadn't invaded and conquered their neighboring star systems millennia ago, building wooden bridges between planets while wearing vac suits made of leaves.

Phenir listened patiently to the Sullustan's report and promised to prosecute the bar owners to the limit of the law – there was no listing of emergency numbers posted on the wall next to the comm, which was painted the wrong color, required an entire decicred more than standard paycomms, and was placed too high up for easy use by nonhuman species. His patience was nearing it's too-short breaking point when the Ewok bared his teeth and chattered something savage sounding, which the Sullustan replied to with a disdainful snort.

"He was too big."  
"Hrrr, chibba hyootah!"  
"No, I couldn't have."  
"Chokka!"  
"You're insane. Even if you'd managed to do that, you couldn't have dragged him."  
"Thibbbbbcooo!"  
"Shut up."

Phenir resolved to check out a flash-learning program for Ewokese as soon as he got off of work today, and to invite Raal to visit Endor next time he got a week off. _If she'll go with me. Asking her out would cost me every last remnant of my pride, since she obviously is _not _interested in me..._The Ewok muttered something under his breath, which the Sullustan heard and Phenir did not. The Sullustan – who had given his name as Jae Juun - turned an alarming shade of yellow, and launched into a furious tirade aimed at the Ewok, this time in Sullustan, which was yet another language Zair did not know. Able to restrain his curiosity no longer, Phenir interrupted the tirade and asked,

"What did the little fuzzball say?"

Juun gave him a disdainful look and spat a nasty-sounding reply, which made Phenir frown. "Hey, show some respect to an officer of the law. You're addressing a Lieutenant in the Security Force, not some refugee. What did the little fuzzball say?"

Grudgingly, Juun switched back to Basic, and with an outraged expression on his comically cherubic face, said, "Yub Yub, Lieutenant."  
The Ewok – Tarfang – doubled over laughing and collapsed into a fit of chuckles.

Before the dratted little nuisance started in again, Phenir turned the pair over to a newly -arrived cop, and gave her instructions to bring them back to headquarters, pending investigation of the bar fight and charges against the genetically modified monster. Before they could leave, however, he asked the Sullustan to point out the man – oddly enough, Zair was not having much luck locating a three-meter tall savage amongst the wreckage. Grudgingly, Jae pointed at a middle-aged balding man with a rounded belly and a red nose, who was lying on the floor with a pained expression on his florid face. Unable to restrain the snort of amusement, Zair waved his fellow officer off, and turned his attention back toward Raal.

Beautiful though she was, and despite his very strong desire to stand there and stare at her, he found the willpower to shift his gaze to her prisoner, who had watched the whole comical proceeding without showing any visible emotion. It seemed that a faint flicker of surprise crossed his face when the retreating officer asked them for their names again – Jae Juun and Tarfang – but on the whole, he looked as unconcerned as if he was at an old pilot's reunion party that had gotten a little rowdy.

He wore the cuffs without seeming to notice them, and he held his back straight with pride. Not the slightest twinge of remorse or regret touched his features as he surveyed the damage in the room. Indeed, he seemed vaguely amused at all this, especially the bartender, lying on the floor as if he had been permanently attached to it by the unifying force of the blows he had suffered. When the man's gaze swept over Phenir, Zair held it, feeling a touch uncertain. The scarred, dark-haired man before him was not holding his back so straight out of defiance, but from sheer force of habit. _Military-trained, probably career. Why is he in a bar causing fights?_ Certainly, it was nothing abnormal for a soldier to cause a ruckus on leave; but this man was different. There was an indefinable aura surrounding him, something indescribable and powerful. Phenir _knew_ that this man had borne pain so great that even the not-quite normal life of military service was not an option.

The prisoner's gaze was a little too disconcerting, so Zair shifted his view to something –all right, some_one_ – infinitely more pleasing.

Unfortunately, the pleasing object of his attention was behaving in a displeasing manner.

Raal Ternos had worked with Zair long enough that he could read her mind at times. It didn't hurt matters that he had spent every possible minute studying and dreaming about her. At times like this, though, that ability could be somewhat of a curse. Because right now, he _really_ didn't want to see that look in her eyes, especially since it was not aimed at him. _She_ was the one looking like a lovestruck nerf, now. She may have held the keys to her prisoner's cuffs, but he was holding some portion of her captive. Granted, if the guy ever took a bath, shaved, and maybe got a haircut, he would be pretty good-looking. But she looked as self-conscious as a teenager meeting a movie star. Which was entirely unreasonable, in Zair's estimation. Maybe he should go berserk and get in a bar fight sometime. It would be worth it, to have _that_ look aimed at him.

"Raal."  
Silence.  
"Raal."  
Silence. This was getting annoying.

"Raal!"

The prisoner had been looking at Zair while he called his partner, but now he turned to see why she had not responded. As his eyes met hers, she flushed bright red and looked away hurriedly. Catching sight of Zair, she stuttered out a comment that would have been normal and innocuous except for the darting glances she gave Silverlock.

"This must have been quite the fight."

Three things were obvious to Zair in that moment. The first was that she still had no idea that he had called her, and only spoke to him because she was avoiding Silverlock's eyes. The second was that Silverlock had no idea of the effect he was having on her.

The third thing was that he had forgotten breakfast, again. He had gotten up early to work on that blaster pistol, and had gotten somewhat absorbed in his work. It was the reason for his lateness getting out, and the reason for the growl in his stomach.

"Yeah, I guess it was." He turned to the as-yet-unidentified man. "You start this?"

He met his gaze squarely. "I did."

As the man gave no indication that he wished to elaborate, Zair took his arm and started leading him towards the police speeder parked outside. Apparently, Raal had forgotten that she was in possession of a pair of feet. "I'm Zair Phenir. This is my partner, Raal Ternos." _Who hasn't been able to take her eyes off of you for the past five standard minutes, and would release you from your cuffs if you asked nicely._ "We would like to bring you into the station for questioning."

"I thought you might." Most people, when they realized that they were in police custody and were likely to get in trouble, exhibited distinct signs of nervousness. This man could have been out on a stroll with two old friends; if he had not been constantly scanning and evaluating his surroundings for threats. Zair got the feeling that he did this more out of habit than of any sense of impending doom. And the fact that he was under arrest hadn't even been worth worrying about.

This was going to be quite the case. Zair had determined long ago to enjoy life, garnering amusement where he could, and he sensed that an abundance of it was coming straight at him – as long as Raal shaped up sometime in the near future. He hadn't seen anything as funny as the Ewok since the visage of the famed 'Joiner King' was broadcast during that blasted swarm war. The melted lump of flesh had been a sharp contrast when compared to the image-conscious politicians that normally dominated the holonews. And the way he had thrown the reporter across the room was absolutely hilarious.

As he was putting the perp into the back of the speeder, Raal spoke up. Apparently, her tongue had returned from its vacation to Ossus.

"What's your name?"

Zair groaned inwardly and hurriedly added, "You have no obligation to answer that until and unless you have consulted with legal counsel."

The prisoner paused at the door of the speeder and looked at her. Somehow never breaking his solemn expression, he blew his hair – just the pure white lock, since the rest was slightly shorter – out of his eyes. "Jag," he said, looking at her with naked, raw pain evident in his eyes. "My name is Jagged Fel."

Then he sat in the back of the police speeder, awaiting transportation to the jail.


	2. Chapter Two: Discovery

Disclaimer: If you think I have figured out a way to steal the characters of one of the most famous sagas of all time, please go spar with Saba.

If you think I have figured out a way to make money off of a story posted onto a free site available to any jungle tribesman with a laptop and a satellite connection, please go tell Jacen Solo that he is acting foolishly, and doesn't know what he's doing.

Reviews may be submitted here (preferably) or at the site that linked to this. If you don't review this story, I'm going to send Tarfang after you.

It appears that nobody got the little 'inside joke' I put into the last chapter...even the Jag fans. Go back, read it again, and be thinking about all the books that Jagged Fel has appeared in.

Chapter 2: Discovery

_It had been necessary, of course. When the trade had first been offered to him, he had almost blindly rejected it. But the moment of hesitation before he drew his lightsaber had proved to be undoing, though not from any weapon of his enemy; the blow had come from within his own heart. Actually considering the possibility had irrevocably set him upon the path, for once he looked at the prize, all reservations fell away. He knew even before The Offer that he could not possess the key; but he had never allowed himself to directly consider how he might obtain that key._

--------------------------------------------

Lieutenant Zair Phenir was not a happy man. The tone of the room did nothing to aid him in recovering his good spirits. Something about a failing interrogation always got to him, somehow.

He was seated in a narrow, rectangular room. The stark white walls, white tiled floor and dull gray ceiling matched the blank, expressionless look on Jagged Fel's face. Though any idiot who watched holovids would know about a false wall that allowed viewing of suspects, he refrained from throwing an exasperated look at the side wall. Raal Ternos, watching through the viewing system, would never notice. She was most likely wondering if releasing coma-gas into the room and then releasing Jagged would earn her a dinner date. _First chance I get, I'm starting a bar fight._ "Mr. Fel,"

"Jag."

"Jag." He leaned forward, folding his fingers across the bare metal face of the table, attached to the floor by a telescoping mount. "I am going to be honest with you. You haven't been particularly forthcoming. In fact, you've been downright reticent. You've answered nearly every one of my questions, true, but the biggest single sentence I've heard you say 'I was never in the Peace Brigade,' and the clearest sentence was 'My name is Jagged Fel.'" The only response he got was an imperturbable stare, as unreadable as the sand on Tatooine. _Is the guy practicing for being a hero in a holovid or something? If my partner is any indication, he's got a big future. _ "Now, while it's nice to know that, I'm sure that you'll understand that my superiors will not be impressed with my interrogation skills if that is all the information I can offer them."

Glory be to the Drallian sun, he got a raised eyebrow. Any minute now, Fel the Fearless was going to crack and start sobbing out his life story. He would be putty in his hands, moldable and pliable. Yeah, right. More likely, any moment now, Fel would knock Zair out with his forehead, escape his bonds with the stylus in Zair's pocket, slice the security door with Zair's ID badge, and step out into the hall. Raal would come running from the surveillance room, and he would deftly disarm and neutralize her with one arm and two fingers. Securely pinned, she would stare up into his too-serious eyes and he would kiss her lightly. Released, she would merely stare pensively after him as he stepped merrily out of the station and drove off in Zair Phenir's personal vehicle.

"Now that we've gotten the preliminaries out of the way, I'd like to move forward to this so we can finish up with this mess. The bartender, Karlis Ikondres, has filed a report of the incident with our station." Punching at the screen controls embedded in his side of the table, he called up the appropriate record. A wave of his stylus sent it across the table towards his prisoner. "If you would please examine this report and point out anything you believe to be in error, I would appreciate it. Also, I would like you to tell your version of what happened, clearly and with detail. Any personal information – people we should contact, particulars about yourself, past military or security service, any criminal record that might be on record at Coruscant or Ossus, and anything else you feel that you should tell us – would be welcome at this time. Alternatively, you may include it in your comprehensive account of the incident."

Jag Fel looked down at the file in front of him. "Sure."

"As you can see, Ikondres – who, by the way, is recovering nicely – claims that you were stirring up dispute with an anti-Jedi harangue, with the set purpose of causing trouble. When he suggested that you had had too much to drink, and politely asked you to leave, you viciously attacked him, breaking his forearm," – Zair would have loved to learn that particular move, but he wasn't about to ask for a demonstration – "and then turned on his valuable, paying customers, assaulting the nearest and throwing his entire respectable establishment into turmoil"

Fel's lips tightened somewhat at the word 'Jedi.' Noting the response, Phenir continued. "After this, you and a small furred savage – by which he apparently means the Ewok – teamed together and took on the entire barroom, causing much damage to the furnishings, and interrupting the aforementioned respectable, valuable, paying customers in their enjoyment of some quality refreshment." He tapped the table, calling up the next section of the report, and looked back to Jag while he waited. "Final figures for bacta treatments are not yet in, but let me just tell you right now that if you ever move to Thyferra, they'll regard you as a hero."

The next section of the report ceased its scrolling, and he turned to Jag, quoting from memory. "In the midst of the fight, I – Ikondres – attempted to rationally calm the pair of them – that's you – in an effort to minimize the already considerable damage to my property, the taxes on which have been properly paid. Whilst I was engaged in this pursuit, the vicious small furred creature that had allied itself with the accused attempted to disembowel me with a-" He trailed off as a _click_ sounded from behind him, and Fel's gaze moved from his face to just over his left shoulder. Turning, he discovered Raal, who was _not_ supposed to be there. He had left her in the surveillance station, and under normal circumstances, she was not supposed to interrupt her recording unless in case of emergency.

She kept her back to the door, her attention fully focused on Jagged Fel. She wore a peculiar expression, wary and watchful, anticipating a violent and disastrous eruption. Her hand was poised above her holstered weapon, which had been freed in its holster, ready for a quick draw. She kept her line of fire clear, as if Jagged Fel was an unrestrained, deadly criminal instead of a –so far—docile, model prisoner.

"Zair. I need to speak to you outside for a minute."

She had looked half in love with the man last time Zair had seen her. As glad as he was to see that she had come back to her senses, he was still mildly alarmed by the sudden change. "Believe it or not, I happen to be interrogating a suspect in an investigation at the moment, so maybe-"

"Zair!" Her eyes flicked back to Jagged Fel, and suddenly, Zair saw something new in them, something so totally alien to her as to be almost unrecognizable. Fear. "Now."

A cold sweat broke out on his body as he glanced back at his prisoner, who, without moving an iota, had taken on a menacing air. The expression of idle curiosity and confusion that he wore seemed suddenly more like a performance than genuine emotions. The ever-watchful expression in his eyes seemed ten times as sinister as before. The handsome face appeared to be only a mask, cunningly designed to deflect and discourage suspicion, with evil plans swarming behind it like piranha beetles, teeming in a dark and twisted brain.

---------------------

Plastering a fake smile on his face, Zair followed Raal out of the room, casting a wary glance over his shoulder at Fel. As the door closed behind him, she caught his arm and pulled/pushed him into the sound- and blastproof door. As so often happened in unusual and delicate situations, his brain got the better of his common sense, and his tongue forged ahead on its own accord. "If you wanted some quality time alone, you could have just-'

"Shut up. I had to get you out of there. Zair, a communiqué came in a minute ago. Apparently, the name he gave activated some sort of flag on our security system, placed into the Planetary Security's main computer by the _Jedi_! They have instructions with the flag, saying that if he shows up, anywhere in the galaxy, the Jedi Temple is to be notified at once and he is to be placed in a comfortable cell. We will avoid all contact with him, until we are reached by representatives of the Jedi. There's a class _Ewok_ warning with the flag, and the notation says -" She stopped and swallowed. Apparently, she no longer found Fel the Fabulous appealing. "The notation says that he is a rogue Yuuzhan Vong agent named Nom Anor. He is responsible for the destruction of worlds, Zair! This Nom Anor fellow supposedly is accountable for half the Yuuzhan Vong plots in the war, including most of their anti-Jedi operations. He was almost captured by a _Skywalker_ at the Battle of Coruscant, but he reportedly disappeared. According to the report, he has undergone a process called 'shaping' that has made him physiologically indistinguishable from a human. In this same process, he was implanted with invisible, undetectable weapons that can do almost unimaginable things. His _eyeball_ twitches, and _shoom_! You're dead! He can trigger these weapons by blinking, sneezing, tapping his arm, shifting his weight, moving his tongue, innocuous trigger words! Anything! Zair," she swallowed, and her voice trembled, "he could have killed you at any time in there!"

Despite the sincerity in her voice, and the clammy feeling at the back of his throat, Zair made a feeble attempt to lighten the mood. "If this is to get me back for that time I told you that Commander Sarik's wife was-"

"This isn't a joke!" She was furious, and apparently serious. This was not good. "We are being told to keep this quiet, and wait until someone arrives to-"

The door at the far end of the hall banged open, and the Sullustan and Ewok from the bar walked in.

"Oh, Sithspit."

----------------------------------------

"What the Garzal?"

Zair was not a happy man. Initially, he had hoped that the story about the death-blinking destroyer of bars was an attempt at payback for the nerf incident. But the Sullustan's arrival proved that that hope was false; not even his fun-loving partner would voluntarily invite that rigid Sullustan into a situation like this.

The only other possibility – other than accepting Raal at her word and believing the incredible story – was that Zair was at this very moment strapped to the interrogation table, hallucinating, and his earlier fantasy about Jagged Fel escaping was, in fact, reality. Neither option was particularly appealing, but he did not have time to consider it. Jae Juun was talking again, repeating his earlier statement.

"We don't need to show you our identification. We can be about our business."

_Someone_ had watched too many Luke Skywalker holovids. This was getting ridiculous.

The Ewok chattered something abusive-sounding, and the Sullustan tried to kick him. "Shut up, Tarfang. I was trying to keep you out of that preposterous bar fight. And if you ever call me Jae Juun the Jumping Jedi again, I swear that I'll feed you to Saba."

Zair interrupted sharply. "Listen, buddy, I don't know who you are. And until I do, you're not seeing the prisoner, no matter who he looked like. And furthermore," he jabbed at the Sullustan with his finger, "if you were a Jedi, you'd be in the room already and I'd be wandering around the room in a daze looking like I'd just been ear-boxed by a Barabel. So stop quoting me that stupid line!"

Juun's eyes bugged out even further than they naturally did. "What? Oh, er...No, of course I'm not a Jedi. Have you ever seen a Sullustan Jedi? We're not exactly built for leaping about and swinging swords. But we can't give you our names, per Section 11 of our operational orders, which clearly indicate that under no circumstances are we to reveal our true identities to civilian personnel. Darth Vader with truth serum couldn't drag it out of me." The Sullustan looked expectant, as if he had just said something amazingly profound, and Zair was supposed to gape in awe and shower him with accolades.

Zair led an interesting life. But he would remember this day for a long time. This entire ridiculous case made him want to howl in laughter. And the Ewok was only helping things out with his constant abuse of the Sullustan, Juun, and his constant antics. Even as the thought crossed his mind, he saw Tarfang puff out his little chest and cast a challenging glare at the cleaning droid, curling his upper lip to reveal his comically small teeth.

"Listen, Juun, there is no way-"

"What? What did you just call me?"

Frowning, he repeated himself. "There is no way-"

Again, Juun interrupted him. "No! No, the part where you said"- his voice had dropped down to a whisper by now - "my name."

"You know, there is nothing special about a name. You're Juun. He's Tarfang. I'm Zair, and she's Raal." Had Juun forgotten that he and Tarfang had been yelling at each other within earshot of half the city?

With a worshipful expression on his face, the diminutive Sullustan shook his hand energetically. "I'm sorry, sir. I didn't know. If I'd known you had level Q clearance, I never would have given you a hard time."

Attempting to extract his hand, Zair cast a pleading glance at Raal, who was biting back chuckles.

"How do you know I have this, umm…" he gave his hand a jerk, pulling it free, and stuck it quickly in his pocket, "Level Q clearance?"

"Why, only someone directly authorized by General Cracken, the head of Intelligence himself, could know about our Intelligence identities and our secret meeting with Saba Sebatyne, and the reports of a renegade Force-user causing trouble in this sector, and the secret code phrases you just used! Our security is very tight, and our operatives are trained to maintain secrecy."

Zair's jaw dropped. An awful suspicion entered his mind – no. Raal wasn't _this_ good at composing practical jokes. _This guy is for real_—

"Ahh, Juun, I think that you might be, ummm…" He paused, searching for a way to tell the Sullustan what had just happened.

"Overheard if we continue speaking here." Raal stepped forward, between Zair and Juun. "I suggest we move this secret meeting to a more secure location. When we get there, why don't you brief us on every detail of this mission? Start from the beginning, and be sure to explain your thoughts on the mission briefing."

------------------------

Raal was seated at the head of the conference table, in a room very similar to the one where Jagged Fel—Nom Anor—now sat. To her right, Tarfang perched on the back of his chair, glaring suspiciously around the room, with the odd belligerent look at the deactivated 7PO in the corner thrown in just because he felt like it. To her left, Zair was pretending to be mysterious and aloof, and trying not to laugh as he so desperately wanted to.

She returned her gaze to Juun, seated directly across from her at the opposite end of the square table. "Juun. Why don't you tell my partner and I everything. Start from the beginning, at the briefing. We would like to compare yours with ours."

"Why?" With that expression of open innocence on that cherubically round face, Jae had better not wander near a toy shop for children.

"You're an Intelligence operative. Surely you know that every gesture, every look, can convey more meaning than most people would recognize." Out of the corner of her eye, she barely glimpsed Zair baring his teeth, raising his right eyebrow, thrusting his chin to the left, sticking his tongue between his teeth, and staring cross-eyed at Juun, who looked at him, gave a startled squeak, and began spilling out the details of his operation.

----------------------------------

According to Juun, he and Tarfang had been Intelligence operatives for several years, since the events of the Killik crisis. Having survived many dangerous and deadly missions, to which they were constantly alluding – at least, that's what Juun identified Tarfang's interjections as – they were currently assigned to assist a Jedi Master named Saba Sebatyne, who was investigating rumors of a dangerous being in this sector, possibly Force-sensitive. Saba, using her Jedi perceptions, claimed that this mysterious figure was subtly influencing political situations galaxy-wide to cause conflict and generally create trouble, aided by a seemingly endless network of minions. Saba thought it might be behind the escalating crisis on Corellia, but Juun dismissed this as nonsense.

Descriptions of this being ranged from Wookiee to Falleen to Killik and back again, and none of them agreed on every point. In some of the more bizarre instances, the agent of evil was said to be a deceased relative or loved one of the informer.

The pair's superior, a General Cracken, had been investigating the possibility of a normal perpetrator in several of these cases; when Saba had brought the matter up before the Jedi Council, word had been sent to Intelligence, and a joint Jedi/Intelligence operation was set up. Raal was nearly positive that this Sebatyne was not right in the head, since Juun had announced with some pride that he had been directly requested by the Jedi Master herself to assist. The Jedi Master, bored with meditations at the Temple, had scheduled a meeting with Juun and Tarfang in the bar that morning, but four minutes after she was supposed to have arrived – Raal made sympathetic noises over the unprofessional actions and utter lack of proper respect for procedures by the tardy Barabel – the man Raal and Zair now knew to be Nom Anor had interrupted.

When they finished their account, Raal was quiet for a long moment, stunned by what she had heard. Then Zair spoke up.

As usual, his voice sent a little shiver down her back. She should have been used to hearing his voice now –they'd been partners for quite a while—but somehow it never failed to get a reaction out of her. Of course, she would never be able to tell him that. He would probably laugh aloud and treat the entire thing as a huge joke.

"So, why did you come to this station? You clearly needed something from us, before you found out we had, er – Level Q clearance."

"Oh! I had forgotten; you see, we recognized the man who started the bar fight. Actually, Tarfang recognized him, but he didn't think it was important enough to mention until after we were finished with the questions your fellow officer had to ask us. Speaking of whom, I must say, that fellow must have never read a procedural manual in his life. If he is any indication of the typical attitude of your staff-"

Zair interrupted, trying not to sound impatient. "What does that have to do with Nom Anor?"

"Who?" Juun looked confused.

"Nom Anor. The guy you recognized, the one that was at the bar. The one who is causing all this trouble."

"You know his true name? I only knew him as Jagged Fel; I'm sorry sir, if I'd known you had a level R clearance, I would have-"

"Shut up. I don't have his name. Well, I do. The guy we arrested? The one back at the bar with you, who caused all this trouble? The one you came here to see? That's Nom Anor. You know, living weapon, kills-with-a-sneeze, big scar on his face?"

For some reason, the Sullustan looked shocked.

-------------------------------------

The black abyss was there, hovering, as it always was…but how long had always been? Oddly enough, when he tried to think back, tried to cast his mind over the past few…years? Months? He could remember little of it, only a vague sense of searching, then wandering. And before that; before that lay the abyss. He could not move past it. He knew intellectually that he had done things past it, that he had lived a life, and could have recited the events of that life; but he could not remember it. No, the only memory that was permitted in his mind, other than the occasional flash of war and loss and pain, was the one that always triggered the blackness.

It was his own fault, really. He had kept his life under strict discipline, never breaking, for so long; only to be undone shortly after he left Chiss space. As soon as he met – that woman, it had deserted him. In everything else, it was his most constant companion; but she had broken it, left it shattered in pieces, and Jagged had never mourned it's loss. In fact, he had welcomed it. Fool.

She had captured his heart, and not known it. He was ready to die for her, ready to do anything for her. In the cold hard vacuum above Borleias, he had risked his life and ship to free her and her squadron from the entrapment the Vong had made for her. He had succeeded in clearing her path, but was left without shields, surrounded by his enemies, and without hope of survival.

She had come back for him. Against all logic, against all reason, against a direct order, she had turned around and come for him. And they had won. She had – what had she done? She had not told him that she loved him; she had not even said she cared for him. The only thing she had said was that 'Everyone is going away. I didn't want you to go away, too." A perfectly common reaction to wartime and death; but he had foolishly interpreted it as a declaration of love.

He should have known better. He should have walked away, should have gone back to Chiss space when he had the chance. She was emotionally spent, and just looking for someone to lean on. He had meant nothing to her. She was too caught up in the unspecific and vague goal of 'being a Jedi' to care about a lowly human. He knew the truth, now. He had bared his heart, had given himself to her, and though she had returned his affections with every sign of the same devotion he had to her, she had left him. When the crisis was over, when the Jedi unified, she had committed herself to them and forgotten him. She had gone after a taller, unscarred man. A _Jedi_, who could share a part of her life that Jag never could; and one who had abandoned her when she needed him most. He could have dealt with that. Maybe. Throwing himself headlong into his career, burying himself to the exclusion of all else, had worked for a few years. There had been no black pit then, though his life wasn't exactly cheerful. Cem could attest to that. As he had worked to restabilize his life, she had walked back in one day, changed irrevocably from a woman he had loved into a cold-hearted female who betrayed everything that they had fought for during those long months together. She had done her best to bring down the only people who had ever welcomed him, threw aside his honor-word like so much trash, and tried to kill him. She and her latest amusement had almost succeeded. The desperate maneuver that had saved his life could have done the job for her, if not for blind chance. She had flown that day with the help of the Dark Jedi Alema Rar – personally, he wasn't sure there was a difference anymore between Dark Jedi and Jedi. But he hadn't found that out until later. No, he had been shot down by the gunners aboard the _Millennium Falcon_, a ship he had once saved; and which had turned those guns on his comrades and friends, on his _brothers_.

The wall around him crackled, and twelve drunken Ewoks appeared on-screen, laughing at him. He almost wished he was back with J –_her_.


	3. Chapter Three: Identification

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Chapter 3: Identification

_The key was the center. He could never claim it from its current owner, even if he was oblivious to the treasure he held. But if the current owner was to throw away the key, or better yet, reject it; well, that would suit his purposes well. It had been a hard step to take, this final one; for he had crossed a line that he knew all too well. And this time, there was no going back. He took the offer when it was presented to him, and that irrevocable action had set him firmly upon his course. When he had employed it, he had been driven even deeper. And now, he had only to wait and see the effectiveness. The trap had been triggered; the prey, oblivious to its impediment, had walked right in. Now he had only to wait and see how events played out. _

Jagged Fel blinked disbelievingly at the display around him. Seeing the Ewok back at the bar had been bad; the associated memories the face provoked had only fueled his anger and caused him to tear up the bar even further. If they were going to torture him, fine, but it would be nice if they showed some decency about it. Darth Vader wasn't this cruel.

Abruptly, the cacophony stopped, and a male – and thankfully human – voice came over the speakers. "Tarfang, you stupid little fuzzball, stop messing with the controllers! If you want a look at him, fine, but let _me_ do it before the computer explodes!"

Maybe they weren't trying to torture him, after all. The images of the bizarre Ewok disappeared, and were replaced with a single image of his interrogator. The interrogation actually hadn't been that bad; not even the Jedi would torture a prisoner, let alone some honest police officers in the back corner of the galaxy. The guy was a little unskilled, sure, but that wasn't his fault. Not everyone had the abilities of a Chiss. He was, however, glaring at Jag a little more angrily than he had before. In fact, he now looked like he wished he could tear his heart out and feed it to a Gungan.

"Can you hear me, Anor?"

Ah good, some entertainment. Good officer vs. bad officer. Anor's screen must not have been working, or else Jagged would surely be subjected to a kindly and sympathetic stare to counter the vile-looking glare Phenir was aiming his way.

"Answer me, you slimeball!"

Well. That ruled out the possibility that Anor was Zair's superior. Most of the time, in these situations, the bad officer was the higher one, anyway. It was odd for the assigned B.O. to be that abusive of his partner, though. Jag had no idea what bright-light psychologist had come up with _this_ comedy routine, but it was a fair guess that he was recently graduated.

"I swear, scum, if you don't answer me I'm going to tear that silly beard of yours out by the roots and give it to Tarfang for a headdress!"

That was extremely odd. These guys needed to get their act together, or they would have Boba Fett wannabes wandering the streets while they interrogated Chadra-Fan grandmothers.

As the insistent officer kept spouting invectives at his poor subordinate, Jag tuned him out. At least, he tried to. The abrasive oaf was getting annoying, especially since he was glaring at Jag the entire time, as if his subordinate's lack of auditory sensitivity was _his_ fault. At length, unable to stand it any longer, Jag yelled out, "Will you stop that! It should be obvious even to someone of your limited intelligence that Anor can't hear you, but I certainly can, and let me tell you that it isn't exactly interesting!

"So, first you're a death-sneezing, scaled-down biological version of the Death Star, and now you're schizophrenic? Nice. Real nice."

It occurred to Jag that he had probably made the psychologist's day. He wished that the idiotic fellow would turn his attention from Suspect Information Extraction to Employee Mental Health, because clearly, this man was insane. Jagged was about to wish for the Ewok again. "I'm sure that you're a fascinating conversationalist at parties, and Anor would really enjoy this, but could you tone it down a bit? Anor obviously isn't listening right now."

"I'll bet he isn't, you creepy _di'kut_. Since 'Nom Anor' isn't available, do you mind if I talk to, ah, _you_ instead?"

Idle thoughts vanished from Jag's mind as an icy splinter wormed its way down his spinal cord. "Where did you hear that name?"

"From the Jedi Temple, spiceloaf."

Confused by the reference to a Corellian food, Jag stared at his deranged tormentor. "Nom Anor died in the crash-" he winced inwardly, remembering a holo one of the Chiss spies had captured "-aboard the personal flagship of Shimmra, the Supreme Overlord of the Yuuzhan Vong. What makes you think he can hear you now?"

"Holy bantha, you actually believe that? Well, since _Anor_ can't hear me now, let me tell you this; he's as alive as you are, you backstabbing Gamorrean. And anyway, aren't you supposed to bow or kneel or stab yourself or something when you hear Shimmra's name?"

He gave up trying to puzzle out the Corellian food reference, and applied himself to this new challenge, with the same results. "Why would I do that, you _kar'laka_?" Jag had to get out of here. Any minute now, this 'security officer' was going to bring out a vibrosaw and start dismembering him. He had a sudden, horrible image of a police station taken over by a handful of deranged criminals wearing official clothing. "And since when is Nom Anor alive? I was told of his death by Jain…" The name he had been about to say stabbed him in the gut, and he stopped as quickly as if he'd been about to fly into a black hole. For an interminable minute, the world around him dissolved into spinning darkness. _Not again… _He fought to stay above the whirlpool sucked at his mind, pulling it in with the voraciousness of a Sarlacc sensing prey. Frantically he thrashed out with his mind, attempting to focus on something, anything, other than the word that was trying to kill him. _You will never think of her name again without pain. She is the ruination of your life, and the bane of your existence. _

He came out of the blackness slowly, but once he was out, his mind cleared and the tactical analysis that it was best suited to came flooding into his consciousness. Zair Phenir, voice still tight and furious, crashed into his ears once more.

"…yeah, I bet you can't talk about your _shaper_ masters, the ones who created you. Oh no, they probably implanted a block along with your second personality, along with your Death Sneeze, along with all the rest of your…"

Death Sneeze? _Somebody_ had been watching too many low-budget Rebel Alliance spyflicks. It sounded like some weird 'advanced technology' that the hero would use to disable his captors in one of those horrible productions with no plot and flashy vehicles, which the hero used to escape other spies and pick up pretty girls. He needed to stop, to think; The Name always left him drained and tired. Weakness had seeped into his limbs, and he found it hard to think properly.

"…crazy implants, you out-of-alignment rodder, and then they sent you out to fight a war they'd already lost, so who are you working for, what are you doing for those filthy savages who stole my Karley, remade her into some aberration, sacrificed her to one of your Yunny-whatever gods, why would you do something like that, why did you take her, she never did anything to you so why would you hurt an innocent girl like that, why would you steal her from me…"

Jag jumped as a short-barreled, repeating blaster –an E-Web, from the looks of it—swung down from the ceiling directly in front of him. Situated slightly on the far side of the room, above where an interrogator would normally be seated, it stopped a meter and a half below the abnormally high ceiling and unfolded itself. When its transformation was complete –0.27 seconds, the military-trained part of his mind reported to him, with a blast rating powerful enough to vaporize a bantha -- the E-Web, manipulated by a trackball and the hand of a madman, swung around to face directly at him. Phenir's voice grew in pitch and volume, and the man's face contorted into a mask of hate so distorted that he no longer looked entirely human.

"…she was on vacation, visiting her grandmother, the only other relative she had in the galaxy, and you came and stole her away from me, ruined her, experimented on her, scrambled her brain up, and when she was no good to you…"

A blinking orange light flashed on the housing of the E-Web, showing that it was armed and ready to blast Jag into pieces. Zair was screaming now, sobbing through his anger and hatred.

"…took her, just threw her life away like garbage, my poor precious Kayley, alone in the universe, she died screaming in front of one of your kriffing statues…"

All sluggishness was gone from his limbs and mind, now. Jagged Fel had faced death too many times not to know when it was staring him in the face, and his body reacted accordingly, flooding him with adrenaline and the powerful desire to live, despite his pain, despite his misery. All the times he had half-heartedly wished for death were blown away and suddenly, abruptly, he was his old self. Gone was the pain, gone was the darkness in his mind. He could think clearly for the first time in… _months?_ …and he saw how vulnerable he was. He knew all too well how quickly death could claim someone, anyone. Licking his lips, which were suddenly dry, he spoke carefully, shifting his gaze from the E-Web to the maniac controlling it.

"Listen, Zair, I've got no idea who or what hurt your, ah…"

"My niece, you-"

"…your aunt. You're in control here, so lets keep this calm and talk to each other like reasoning, sentient beings. You have the power here, you're in charge, and we need to-"

"You're not a 'reasoning being,' Huttslime, and you're certainly not sentient. No, all your kind are is just mindless mutations, with no human thoughts or feelings, no sympathy, no love, just wackos with a weird philosophy, who think they ought to rule the universe…"

That hit a little too close to home, in more ways than one. With a voice like ice, he said, "If every anti-alien bigot like yourself got on board one great big ship and flew straight into a black hole, the galaxy would be a lot better off. Just because a group of sentients espouses a different philosophy than you do, just because they like their privacy and home, doesn't give you the excuse to-"

"Oh, if you liked your home so much, why didn't you stay there, eh? Why did you have to come here and sacrifice Koley to Yun-Nerfhead, eh?"

A small portion of his mind began to clamor for his attention, and he knew something important had just been said; but he didn't have the time to stop and think about it! He had to keep this man appeased and try to calm him down, or…"I don't know what glitbiter told you that story, but I assure you, the Chiss Defense Force does not conduct ceremonial sacrifices and certainly does not…" The niggling thought at the back of mind suddenly clarified, and realization of his predicament asserted itself. "Wait! You're saying she was killed by the _Vong_? What has that got to do to me, you screwed-up mental? I changed my mind, I want a lawyer _now_! Give me back the Ewok!"

"One Vong is as good as any other, fake human skin or no. I hear your kind like pain. Do you like pain? I'll show you pain, Nom Anor, and give you scars, oh yes, you'll be right up near godhood when I'm finished with you…"

The E-Web fired, and the blinding flash obscured Jag's vision. The tabletop in front of him splintered from the impact. He threw up his arm reflexively as fragments peppered his face and upflung arm, embedding themselves into his skin.

"…I'll do to you what you did to her. Prepare to meet Yun-Bantha, you murdering…"

"Hey! Stop, you delusional nerfherder! Just stop, OK? I have no idea what you're talking about. My name is Jagged Fel, not Nom Anor! I'm not a Yuuzhan Vong, I'm from Corellia, raised in Chiss space, and I fought with…" Once again, even in the midst of crisis, The Name intruded on his vision, daring him to utter it and face the abyss, worse than the abyss. "…everyone else in the galaxy against those _di'kutla-_"

"I'm not interested in your lies!" Another shot came from the E-Web, this one striking what was left of the table and passing right through, splintering the leg of his chair and dumping him unceremoniously on his _shebs_. "I'm so sick of being lied to, sick of being comforted! She's dead, and nobody can change that! I couldn't save her, I didn't even know she was dying, I was at a _party_…" The man in the viewscreen, now sobbing, lifted his hand to brush furiously at his eyes. His sleeve brushed the trackball, and the E-Web spun rapidly in a downward-aiming circle that covered every corner of the room. As he brought his hand back down onto the trackball, it fired into the door on the opposite side of the room, leaving it smoking and blackened – but unbroken.

Another voice came over the speakers then, a female voice that Jag identified as the female who had interrupted the interrogation…just before this all had gotten ugly. "Zair! Don't, he isn't worth it! Stop! You're just supposed to be interrogating him, not seeking revenge!" She sounded close to tears, pleading with the kriffing maniac, as if that would do any good. "…Nom Anor? I can't stop him from doing anything he wants to, since he's at the control station and down the hall off-site. He's locked me out of the control room, but I might be able to shut down the system remotely. Just hang on, OK? Just hang on. Zair? Zair, can you hear me? You need to calm down. There's going to be a record of this, and if I have to slice into your console to prevent you from killing a prisoner, there'll be an investigation. Zair? There'll be a record of this, Zair. Don't make me arrest you, please!"

He couldn't rely on someone else's rationality to save him from this. He pushed his elbows off the floor as hard as he could and contracted his stomach, catapulting himself off his back and into a standing position. Past his tear-stained cheeks, Zair Phenir watched him with crazed, burning eyes, manipulating the E-Web unerringly. "Lady! Arrest him, quick! This…_spiceloaf_ is crazier than Darth Vader and the Emperor put together! And stop calling me Nom Anor! _My name is Jagged Fel_!"

"You _are_ Nom Anor." The female sounded surprised. Maybe she was crazy too, maybe this was all some sort of sick plot to kill him, cooked up by a Peace Brigader he had slighted. "The Jedi Temple has confirmed it. And unless you want to spend your afterlife with Yun-Shuno, I suggest you make your peace with death and face it like a warrior." A tinge of sarcasm entered her previously kind voice. "The abomination I'm manipulating doesn't have the authority to overrule his abomination."

What did the god of the Shamed Ones have to do with anything? Sure, he knew from Tahiri through…blast, there he went again! Through the Solo's, that any Vong refusing to face death with honor and in the name of the Yuuzhan Vong would be automatically Shamed and denied his place in paradise, but what that had to do with _him_ he didn't know.

"Listen, if I'm going to die, I don't want to die because some bloody demented official on a backwater planet thinks I'm a Yuuzhan Vong who killed his aunt!" Desperately, Jag looked around the perimeter of the rectangular room, a scant four meters across and two meters wide. _There has to be some way I can shield myself from it…there!_. Slowly, and with every indication of fear and surrender, he backed backwards and to the right, the blaster tracking his every move. When he reached the corner, he paused, knowing that what he was about to do was foolish. Then he jumped.

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With every bit of his agility, honed by the years of exercise to make him battle-ready and tough, flexible and lithe, he launched himself to the left. As fast as he could move, he approached the wall, accelerating. The two meters between himself and the far wall flashed by in a heartbeat. Instead of turning as he reached the wall, he angled slightly when he reached it and jumped, feet first, onto it. The combination of his angle and impetus allowed him to, instead of bouncing off, momentarily maintain his speed and run parallel to the gravitic pull of the planet below him. He continued to yell to the female, almost unaware he was doing so. "If you don't…" His heart pounding, choking out the words, he exerted every muscle in his body to keep himself running straight. Barely able to speak for the amount of effort he was putting into a maneuver he had done once before in low-g, he ran across the four meters to the far wall, putting himself ahead and to the left of his earlier position in the chair. As his right foot touched the wall centimeters from the far corner he summoned his strength and threw his torso backwards, placing his body straight out from the wall, kicking off sideways with his right leg, whirling through the air like a Mon Calamari ballet dancer in microgravity, spinning to the right with his arms tucked close to his chest and his legs out straight, facing the floor, the near wall, the ceiling, the far wall, flashing by in a blurring spin, stark white corners and angles and the hate-twisted visage staring at him.

As the far wall spun by into the floor, he flung his left leg out at right angles to the door, and stretched his right hand out straight in front of him, like a dancer suddenly turned sideways and suspended in midair. His body continued its rotation, so that he was facing the floor, his left leg kicked out wide, his right arm outstretched above his head, the rest of his body straight as an arrow. As his body began to angle away from the door and towards the point where he had jumped onto the wall, eons ago, his outstretched right hand grasped at air, his body began to fall, to twist; and then his fingers closed around the ceiling-mounted stand for the protruding cannon, a good meter above the actual barrel of the weapon. He grabbed at it desperately, and did his best to halt his spin and throw himself sideways, parallel to the floor once again, using the strength of only his forearm. He left leg hit the far wall, his right the door wall, and suddenly all motion stopped.

He hung there, pushing with simultaneous and equal force against the wall and the cannon bracket with his feet and right hand, stretched out straight, straining with the effort of holding himself up. Bracing the heel of his sweaty palm against the cannon, he shut his eyes for a brief moment, barely aware that he was still screaming to the female, "stop hesitating and shut down that blasted control station, I'll be dead-"

In that moment of quiet, it clicked. Nom Anor, Yun-Shuno, the angry officer, the threat on his life, the kind, sympathetic female voice over the ceiling, telling him to make his peace and be a true warrior as he died. This was a test…in fact, it was a slightly more bizarre version of the one he had originally suspected. In a calmer voice, slightly angry at himself for being so easily fooled, he continued, "then I'll come back and use this and my lawyer to demote the both of you to garbage collectors. After that, I'll get to work on you."

Looking downward, he saw that his acrobatics to get out of the path of the laser cannon had been futile. Apparently, the E-Web was able to not only spin 360 degrees, but rotate its angle so it pointed upward. It was currently aimed directly at his torso, the end of the barrel only a half a meter away from his stomach. As he looked at the barrel, mildly surprised but no longer concerned, the viewscreen in the door flickered out. A hologram of Zair Phenir grew out of the wall in its place, also parallel to the floor, and stared up at him. Jag smiled at him menacingly. Phenir's already distorted face twisted itself further into hatred and anger, and he slid his hand over the trackball.

"I guess it's Yun-Poodoo for you after all, Vong. Hope you're ready."

The E-Web's readiness light blinked from orange to blue, a bare half-meter from his nose. Stunned, Jag opened his mouth before the creep could blast him and said "You and your Yun-Poodoo can go space yourse-"

The E-Web fired. The bolt ripped into his torso, and he collapsed onto the floor like a boneless Quarren, striking the still-smoking E-Web on the way down.

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Jagged absolutely hated waking up after being hit by a stunbolt. The slow recovery of senses, the initial paralyzation, the confusion and nausea, all combined to make it an extremely unpleasant experience. The smell of fresh _ryshcate_ helped things out somewhat, though.

He opened his eyelids, once he figured out how they worked, and stared at a pair of green eyes from the uncomfortably close range of four centimeters.

"Khi." He croaked.

"Hi yourself. What's that smell? Is the station burning down?"

_It's ryshcate, you idiot, and furthermore I am going to tear your neck off of your shoulders and feed it to a food processor! Stang, I hate this!_

After a moment, Jag realized he had forgotten to actually speak the words, so with dignity and precision, he said; "It'sh _ryshkhathe,_ you biddyit, amd fhurthairmhar, I-"

"You passed. Definitely Corellian origins. No need for 'furthermore', either, so for the sake of my eardrums, save the exultations of delight until you learn how to use your tongue again."

With that reassuring bit of medical advice, Zair Phenir withdrew to a more comfortable range, and pressed a button on the medical drip attached to Jag's arm. While he recovered, he looked around the room he was now in.

It was a pleasant space, warm and well-lit, with gray upholstered seating and tables, perfectly suited for sabacc. It looked an awful lot like a pilot's Down Time station, a comfortable place to relax after a mission. The walls were painted in soothing colors, which provided a stark contrast to the crazily upholstered furniture and the raucously decorated games and entertainment consoles that were scattered about the room. Everywhere he looked, there were tables and couches and games; even a small kitchen was visible through a door into a side room.

Zair, noting his gaze, said "We didn't need to keep you in the interrogation room anymore, so we moved you to the lounge. Hope it's more comfortable."

The reminder of _why _he was so uncomfortable in the first place fueled his anger, and he discovered he could talk after all.

"What was that all about, you _di'kutla_ maniacal Sith you, I ought to rip you up into little bitty…"

"I'd like to see you try it. Truly. It would be an amazing fight. However, if you're going to do that, let me know beforehand so I can produce a clone of myself to do the fighting for me. I saw the wreckage of Ikondres' place." He frowned thoughtfully. "I'd still like to know how that Weequay hit the bar hard enough to crack it…but I'll pass on the demonstration, thanks. Technically, you're still my prisoner, so it wouldn't be very smart of me to let you-" Catching sight of Jag's murderous expression, he hurried on. "At any rate, I think it's time to get a little explaining done.

"Raal and I had to play out that little charade for one purpose, and one purpose alone. We had to be absolutely sure that you weren't Nom Anor."

"Nom Anor died in the…" Jag let his voice trail off. There was no need to start _that_ all over again. "So none of that was for real?"

"No. The only aunt I have ever had is most likely back on Hapes, getting her chin lasered. When she visited earlier this week, I told her that if she was going to grow a beard, she might as well make it a full one. She left in a huff and hopefully made an appointment."

"Loving family." Jag wasn't quite sure if he was serious or not. His own mother had certainly never had any hair on her chin, and neither had…._fierfek!_ "Why did you think I was Nom Anor?"

Zair leaned forward again, serious once more. "Because the Jedi Temple flagged your name, and told us you were. Given your reaction to, and opinion of, the Jedi, it made sense."

"The Jedi Temple told you that I was-" Again his voice trailed off, out of disbelief this time. He had heard plenty of stories about ex-girlfriends exacting revenge from the pilots he flew with during the Vong War, (his favorite one, which had something to do with a pile of clothes in front of a food processor and a suicide note, came from a bald man with a wicked-looking mustache and a cheerful smile, whose name he could not remember) but he never heard anything quite as preposterous as this. "Who created the flag?" He already knew the answer. And even as he realized he knew it, panic set in. He would hear the name again, was about to think it, and the blackness waited for him! He tried to take back the words even as they left his mouth; he knew the agony that awaited him now. He wished he could take the words back. He didn't want to hear her name, he wished he had _never_ heard her name…

"A Jedi Knight named…"

_You will never be able to hear her name again without pain. If anyone so much as whispers it in your presence…she is the ruination of your life, and the bane of your existence._

…Zekk."

The blackness that waited to swallow his mind vanished. Still frantically trying to ward it off, Jag did not even notice for a long moment, until comprehension sunk in. When it did, Jag couldn't respond. He had almost…no, he _had_ gotten shot, all on the orders of that woman's current toy? That guy had some learning to do. Women just plain weren't worth it. Jag felt nothing but sympathy –well, there was some hatred, disgust, murderous rage, and jealousy thrown in, but he wasn't about to acknowledge it—for the poor fellow, who would discover soon enough that…_that woman_ and the Jedi weren't worth anything. They were incapable of normal feelings and loves, caring only for power and whatever weird philosophy they currently espoused.

Words exploded from his lips in a disbelieving tumble, without him needing to think about them. "Zekk wanted me _shot_!"

"No. Our orders were to place you in a comfortable cell, treat you well, and leave you alone until Jedi Zekk reached here."

Jag rubbed his aching stomach where he had caught the blaster barrel on the way down, and peered ruefully at his arm, where fragments of tabletop had embedded themselves under his skin. "I'm glad he didn't tell you I was dangerous and needed to be treated forcefully, then. Mind if I sue?"

"Sure, go ahead. Of course, that terribly clumsy Ewok had a little accident with the recording device in the room, and Sullustans have notoriously bad eyesight…"

"Yeah, I get the holo. Never mind."

The door opened and Raal came in, smiling brightly. "Glad to see you're feeling better."

"Largely due to your efforts to save me from the madman and shut down the control room."

She turned bright red and surreptitiously glanced at Zair. "Yes, well, sorry about that, but we had to make sure that you weren't-"

"Nom Anor, I know.' Jag waved her off tiredly. "Zair here already explained that bit to me. What he didn't explain was that mad Ewok. Where you found that little gem, I'd like to know…"

The door banged open. Tarfang and Juun walked in, trailed by an old translator droid with a deep dent marring its head dome, and fresh tooth marks and saliva on the old metal of it's forearm.

"Sithspit." Jag was not happy. "Now I know my existence is nothing but a series of ghastly horrors strung out one after the other. What in Kessel brought you here?"

Juun smiled happily. Tarfang glowered. Zair hid a smile. Raal laughed aloud.

The QTD said, "Why sir, I was brought here 27.63994 standard years ago by a Incom T-63 Skyhopper, when my interpretation services were no longer required by my former employer and I was purchased by the Planetary Security Force of-"

"Shut up." That explained the dent, at least. Tarfang's presence was all the explanation needed for the attempted bite. "Juun, Tarfang…why are you here?"

"We came to help you."

"How the garzal did you recognize me?"

"Well, after the destruction of the Dark Nest at Qoribu, we were present in the control room of the _Kendall_ when you had your holocomm conversation with Jedi Knight Zekk and Jedi Knight-"

"Enough!" Surprised at the forcefulness and violence in his voice, they all stared at him. He calmed himself quickly; The Name had not been spoken. "I already knew you from briefings from the Chiss Intelligence division. But none of this explains what you were doing in that bar, and what you are presently doing at my interrogation."

Zair gave an exaggerated start and stood, stretching languidly. "Oh, right! I'd forgotten that you were still our prisoner. Fetch me something cold to drink, will you?"

Raal gave him a sideways look and said, "Shut up, Zair."

Juun said cautiously, "Why, Jagged Fel, you do not seem happy that we are here to help. Technically, you are now considered an ally, and our procedural manual mandates that we-"

"I don't want or need any help, thank you very much. In fact, the fewer reminders of any previous life I may have led I receive, the better!"

Raal stared at him, sympathetic tears in her eyes. Juun merely looked bewildered.

He stared at her, then growled, "I don't want your pity!"

Zair stepped between them all. "If you don't settle down, Tarfang is going to pick up on the mood and start fighting with the droid again—ow!"

Shaking his leg in an attempt to dislodge the Ewok, Zair performed a comical dance around the room. Everyone laughed, and even Jag smiled.

When Tarfang had been persuaded to unclamp his jaws and Raal was engaged in bandaging Zair's leg, Jag continued. "I merely want to live out my life quietly, away from wars and starfighters and…Jedi. I want to be able to drown in sorrow if I want to, pick a bar fight and go berserk if I want to, hop from planet to planet when I get bored. I don't _want_ a 'normal' life. I had my chance, and she left me. Now I just want to live out my days in peace and misery, thank you very much."

Zair, who had been staring wistfully at Raal's face -she was pretty, Jag noticed abstractly- during the bandaging process, looked away from her as she raised her eyes to his. Her face was slightly flushed, and her breathing had quickened, but his hasty aversion of his gaze prevented him from noticing. He shifted his attention to Jag, face reddening almost imperceptibly.

"Listen, Jag, now that we know who you are, I think that the charges aren't so serious that you should be held. We'll just tell this Jedi Zekk when he comes that we had already released you. The holograms of your cell will verify this, since we put them onto a continuous loop of an empty room. We didn't want, ah…we didn't want the more _creative_ aspects of your interrogation recorded."

"I understand," Jag interjected dryly.

"At any rate…you're free to go. Do you need help? A ride someplace? A meal?"

He half-smiled, thinking of the canny investments his parents had made. "I'm fine, thanks. But if you wanted to drop me off at a bank, it would be appreciated."

"Sure. My speeder's out back. Raal and I will drop you off…"

Tarfang chittered.

"…and these two will come along for the ride," he sighed.

Jagged spun on his heel and left the room, heading for the wrong door. Raal stared after him, with those tears back in her eyes. "He's in such pain…oh, the poor man. He needs someone to comfo-"

Desperate to stop her before she lost her mind entirely, Zair interjected, "Say, Raal, did I ever tell you about that time when I was fourteen that Zephany Broshgar told me I was short? I tell you, I walked around depressed for six months after that. Sometimes I still find myself looking up at Wookiees and thinking, 'Why me?'"

She gave him a conciliatory smile and swept out of the room, stopping Jag before he walked into the trash room. She took his arm to lead him out to her speeder. "Women," Zair sighed. "He has emotional pain. I have emotional pain. What's the difference?" Tarfang said "Hyooo, thaboota!" and nodded sympathetically.


	4. Chapter Four: First Engagement

If you are going to sue me for borrowing these characters, please call my lawyer at 1-800-SUICIDE. They're actually not mine. And contrary to your fantasies, they're not actually real, either. Well, there's a rumor that Jag is real. All I know is, I'm not about to kill him. Note the absence of any promise about bacta.

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If you think I'm making money out of this, please contact me and detail exactly how to do it. I'd like to know. If you are unwilling to call, please go tap Saba Sebatyne on the shoulder.

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Chapter Four: First Engagement

_There was a danger, of course. The Force did not always work as expected on individuals such as Jagged Fel. While unable to physically touch the Force, he still shone in it, had a presence that seemed somehow stronger than that of most non-Force users. As such, he had a certain…resistance to mind manipulations such as the one that had been employed upon him. It had been nowhere near as difficult to employ as the other one, that had been used for an entirely different purpose, but it had a much higher chance of failing. He still was not sure if it would work or not; but only time would tell. _

_The fool possessed the key, and had no clue of its true value. By its very nature, the key could not be stolen; the only way for the dark figure to obtain it was for its owner to forget about it, or even better, to reject it utterly. _

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Lieutenant Zair Phenir, Planetary Security, opened the door of the station and stepped out into the blinding sunlight. This crazy episode had taken up his whole morning, and the sun was now well past it's midpoint. Raal and Jagged were already at his speeder, and she was asking him what he would do next, after he was dropped off at the bank.

"Hire a cab, head to the airport; I've got a ship there that can take me anywhere I want to go."

Juun and Tarfang, two Intelligence – though not remarkably intelligent – officials, followed Zair out of the building and into the day. From them, Zair and Raal had learned much about this Jagged Fel, though all stories had their stopping point five years ago.

He had served with distinction during the Vong War, and, according to Juun, had fallen –hard – for a Jedi Knight named Jaina **_Solo_**. Upon hearing the name, famous galaxy-wide, the two PlanSec officers, still pretending to be Intelligence agents, had nearly passed out. She had left him, for reasons nobody knew, and was Joined –something that still made absolutely no sense to Zair—to the same Jedi Knight who had ordered Jag detained. Tarfang and Juun had met her at this point, and overheard a holocomm transmission between Jagged Fel and Jaina Solo. They spoke with some admiration about his efforts to thwart her and her companion, and about the tactics he employed during the Killik conflict. Jag had been present during a final battle, attempting to safeguard a Chiss weapon that would destroy the Killiks, and had been shot down by none other than Jaina Solo's mother, arguably the most famous woman in the galaxy…even though Zair wasn't terribly interested in politics.

From that point, the two master spies knew as much about Jagged Fel as Zair did. They offered no insight as to how he had gone from a respected military officer to Nom Anor the Destroyer of Barrooms, but they _were_ able to conclude that the 'Nom Anor' issue was merely to ensure security, apparently put into place by the Jedi Zekk.

And now, there he was, with Raal Ternos hanging onto his every word. Zair, accompanied by Raal –of course- Juun, and Tarfang, would drop him off at a bank, so that he could withdraw some hard credits, and Jagged Fel would take a cab to his ship and disappear from Zair's life forever. Zair had not missed the fact that this arrangement allowed Fel to ensure that nobody had a description of his craft.

As he approached, Raal climbed into the back of his personal speeder, a rare old Skysplitter model from Incom that he had picked up four standard months ago from an elderly lady who had it docked, covered by a spread, in a shelter behind her house. It had belonged to her late husband, and she didn't really have an interest in restoring it. Zair did, however, and it now sat, gleaming, in the back lot behind the station, awaiting use, with the rain shield deactivated so that it was open to the air. It had been his primary vehicle for nearly a standard week now. The mouse-eared Sullustan slid in next to her; it seemed that he had taken a fancy to her, which was completely unsurprising to Zair. His beautiful partner had long been the unwitting object of his worship. Her hair, which came down just past her shoulders, was blond, and nicely set off her slight tan. She had the features of a goddess, which he would never be able to tell her, since she was oblivious to his interest, and would most likely crack a rib laughing if he ever told her. Tarfang sat next to him – behind the passenger seat, he noted with a grin, right behind where Fel was about to sit – and Jag climbed into the front.

"Waiting for you now," Jag said calmly. He had lightened up a lot once the subject had been changed from his past.

"Well, I'm just wondering if I get reimbursed for fuel from this…" Zair said, rounding the corner.

"Would three hundred credits be enough?"

"Gee, I don't know." He had been kidding. "I don't want to be indited for bribe-taking."

"Why, that is perfectly ridiculous," Juun piped up from the back seat. "Surely you of all people must know that accepting personal reimbursement for services rendered is entirely acceptable, and not in any way remotely connected with a bribe."

Jag winked at him, face hidden from the Sullustan, and said "Thank you, Juun, for settling that for us. Can we get moving now?"

"Sure." Zair opened his door, tapped in his personal code, waited for his thumbprint to be analyzed, and then started the speeder.

Jag looked at him, startled. "Old technology, eh?"

"She's a classic." Zair replied proudly.

He switched on the repulsorlift. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, after a pause of a second or so, nothing continued to happen. Zair smacked himself on the head, reached behind him and to the right, and flipped a switch on the back of Jag's chair, turning a small fan on that blew cool air at Tarfang. He smiled ruefully. "A little problem with the wiring that I haven't been able to fix yet."

"Are you sure it's safe to drive?"

"My intuition tells me that it's fine for now, yes."

From the back seat, Raal said, "Oh, that's that extra-sensory thing, right? A weird feeling that tells you everything is all right?"

"Yeah, something like that."

"My grandfather said that feeling came from a dead Sith Lord who is trying to make you do stupid things that will kill you."

"Very funny. Ha-ha."

"You know I'm right," Raal said smugly.

Zair looked at Jag and said, "There are two theories to arguing with women. Neither one works." _Great Sekot! Iceman almost smiled at that one._

Instead of commenting, Jag said, "Listen, I know that this is going to sound weird, but can I drive?"

Horrified at the notion, Zair said, "Absolutely not!" and accelerated out of the parking lot towards the open street. "Why!"

"Something I learned from an old pilot, once," Jag said, fastening his belt quickly. "I want to die peacefully in my sleep like he did, not screaming and yelling in terror like his passengers."

"Listen, I am a very safe driver. I'm Corellian, did I tell you that? I'm incapable of getting into an accident."

"Arrogance and stupidity all in one package," Raal interjected. "How efficient!"

"Are you getting smart with me, pardner?"

"How would you know?" she shot back.

Remarkably, Jag found himself relaxing as the speeder whipped out into the traffic lane, weaving around and over a few slow commuters, and continued to accelerate. Maybe he had been by himself for too long. Interacting with these two, and even the so-far-quiet Intelligence agents in the back seat, was lifting him up slightly from his despair. For the first time in…well, however long it had been since…whatever had happened to him happened, Jagged Fel was enjoying himself. His sadness over…_bugger!_ over his ex-girlfriend was still in the back of his mind, an ever-present weight, but he could look out at the world around it for once, instead of through it. Something had changed inside of him when he had stared down that blaster, something he could not define.

The banter between the two PlanSec officers continued as they drove along towards the credit house, only a few klicks from the precinct.

"You know, this 'hobby' of yours, buying old things and then fixing them, is just a throwback to your childhood."

Uneasy at this new gambit, Zair popped the nose of the speeder up and flew over a large public transportation unit. "It's never to late to have a happy childhood."

"You want things to be like they were when you were a kid, before Zephany Hoogamungawhatever told you that you were short. I understand your pain, and know that you are still scarred from this, but really, there is fine line between 'hobby' and 'mentally disturbed obsession'."

Zair winced and closed his eyes, regardless of speed and potential destruction, and said threateningly, "Those who live by the blastsword, get shot from a safe distance with a blaster."

"Any idiot can point a blaster," Raal said, amused and enjoying herself. "It takes a genius to figure out which end to point where, and I don't think you've quite mastered that."

He laughed aloud. "I think you're winning this round, Raal."

"Yeah, it's about time, isn't it? Want to sue for peace, look for a diplomatic resolution?"

Jag spoke up. "A diplomatic resolution is one person saying, "Let's be friends" while he's trying to find his charric, right?"

"Oh, no." Zair groaned. "We've corrupted him, too. Now he will never get back to normal."

"At least," Raal added, "not before his ribs heal."

"You're the one who added the whole shoot-the-table bit. If you hadn't put that in, he would never have ended up on the ceiling above me. How was I supposed to know he was a—hey!"

From a side street just in front of them, a blue speeder came whizzing out, cutting across three lanes of traffic at the same altitude as them, whipping sideways to slide into the open spot in front of them that Zair had been rapidly narrowing.

"You know, some people are only alive because it is illegal for me to kill them!" For a Security Officer, Zair had some rather startling views regarding drivers with the misfortune to be ahead of him.

Ahead of them, the speeder abruptly decelerated. Zair let out a startled yelp and twisted his controllers, slowing his own vehicle down and bouncing it up so they passed above the speeder instead of through it, nearly scraping the top off of their own speeder as the underside of a transport drone flashed by above them. Jag saw two large men seated inside the pale blue speeder, staring up at them, and then they flashed past and settled in front of them, at cruising altitude once more.

"Stupid rodder! If you want to drive slower than a bantha crawling through blorash, that's your decision, but would you mind doing it in the slow lane and giving some warning?" Zair's mood lightened a bit, and he winked at Jag. "It's a good thing I have such lightning-quick reflexes."

"Yeah, they're like your brain." Confused, Zair flicked his eyes to the rearview cam, catching sight of Raal's merrily twinkling eyes. "One big, brilliant flash, and then it's all dark in there."

"Hey, partnering with you has-"

The speeder behind them accelerated again, coming up fast on their bumper. Thankfully, Zair's eyes were already focused on the rearcam, giving him an extra half-second to punch the accelerator and swerve to the right, drawing static bursts of annoyance from the nearby drivers. The five occupants of his craft were pressed back in their seats by the force of the acceleration as the blue speeder zoomed past them and took a quick left down a side street.

"That stupid rodder is trying to kill me!"

"Never attribute to malice that which is adequately explained by stupidity, Zair." Raal admonished.

Jag snorted and again joined the conversation. "If I practiced that, I'd be long-dead. You can't just ignore potential threats like that. This has nice acceleration, by the way. Surprising in something this old."

"I've made some special modifications," Zair proudly said. "And this was a fairly quiet job, until we met you."

"Yeah?" Jag asked. "I'da thought that with cops like you patrolling the streets, the crime rate and unsolved cases would be chest-high to a Wookiee."

"I think the stunbolt has worn off," Zair told Raal. "He's definitely awake now."

She was formulating a response when the world turned blue and gravity turned sideways.

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There was a sudden jolt, and the speeder spun around, flipping over and skidding on it's safety shields, upside down in the middle of the rough road. Zair fought the controls, knowing all too well what would happen if they remained upside down. Emergency repulsors like the ones keeping him alive would eventually fail, no matter how modern or strong. The ones currently installed were well above minimum safety requirements for an open-air speeder, but they were still old models, and weren't built for this kind of punishing slide. If he hit any object larger than a mouse droid, depending on the shape and angle, he could either explode or crumple.

He searched for a way to slow the craft down, but something was pushing him, perhaps another speeder involved in the accident, perhaps a really big wind. Firing the directional repulsors in full reverse was worse than useless, as the craft began to shake. Jagged Fel, his shaggy hair sticking up in odd directions, had the second set of controls in-hand, tapping furiously. Trying to steer the craft in a straight line was _hard_. The repulsorfield keeping them off the ground was not flat, like the sturdier, better-designed one on the bottom of the little skiff; it was round, almost oval-shaped, and not designed for what he was doing with it. His head had less than a meter of clearance, and he was not particularly tall.

He wrestled determinedly, somehow keeping the craft level, still trying to slow down. It wasn't working. He was starting to rock back and forth, about to tip over; when that happened, the full tank of fuel would explode. _Think, THINK! There is _always_ a way out! Until the moment you die, _you are not beaten_! Think!_ The bouncing craft. The ovalloid shields. Mouse droids. Skipping, hopping, trying to slow down. Going to blow up. Bad. Raal in the back seat. Don't think of her. Focus, focus, work on a solution, maybe thirty seconds left with 'lifts, got to hurry. Top of the ship, lots of little rocks, bumpy ride, bouncing around. Slowing down isn't working. Tactic, tactic, _think of something that will work_!

For a few brief moments, Jagged Fel was the only thing keeping the speeder upright as Zair relaxed, closed his eyes momentarily, opened them again, and looked around. Ahead of them, in their current path, between the slidewalk and the street where people parked, was their doom. An obstacle that stood in their way, the rounded cap of an underground control room for the cities power supply, the thing that would kill them, an obstruction. _Examine all obstacles carefully. With a little ingenuity, they can be turned into levers for your advantage_. This one was about to kill him. Levers. Fulcrums. Bouncing, skipping, ovoid. Slowing down. Rocks, on the water.

Claiming control back from his passenger, Zair mashed the accelerator as hard as he could, aiming his badly shaking craft almost straight at the little dome. His elderly vehicle responded gamely, lunging forward and dislodging whatever had been pushing them. The maneuver was too late to allow him to decelerate, though; no matter what he did, he would hit the rock. His only chance now – and it was a slim one – was in speed…his last thought before they hit was a peculiar one. _Fuel is too expensive to waste blowing myself up._

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When asked to describe it later, Jagged Fel could not. His mind was working, spinning a thousand different directions at once, keeping the craft upright, away from the dangerous little protrusion, when his controls went slack and Zair took them, speeding toward the dome. He was left helpless, with nothing to do, and no way to change the situation; and that was not a circumstance he was accustomed to. This time, there wasn't even a Jedi to…waves of memory _slammed_ over him, crashing with the force of a tidal wave upon his thoughts. _You will never be able to see her face again without pain. If the remnants of your memory dredge it up, it will burn your mind's eye like acid, and you will recoil from it as from a thing vile beyond description…she is the ruination of your life, and…_NO! _She is the ruination of your life, and the…_NO!…_She is the ruin of you…_Defiance sparked in him, and he forgot about the approaching death which faced him. Every fiber of his being strained against the insidious, cloying voice that seemed maddeningly familiar, yet as alien as any being. _You will never be able to see her face again._ He allowed himself to be sucked into that black whirlpool, but did not drown in it; fully immersed, with agony splitting every portion of his mind, he strove to pierce that blackness, to see the face he knew lay beyond. _You will never be able to speak or think her name._ A tinge of gray touched the black around him, and he pushed harder as the world outside, the crashing speeder, the death approaching, all faded into nothingness and he retreated into his own mind

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Raal, strapped into the upside-down speeder, felt a terrific jolt as the onrushing dome hit the speeder – or was it the other way around? It did not matter. The speeder angled through the air for an interminable moment, beginning to twist, slowly and gently, to the left. Time dilated and stopped, and she saw everything with remarkable clarity. Horrified faces peered out of windows, and a bird stared in amazement. Wind touched a weed, and it bent as slowly as Time itself. The world sharpened into focus, and each dot of color imprinted itself upon her memory as adrenaline surged through her body. As they continued to soar, time stretched and returned to normal, and the speeder seemed to rush ahead and twist further. As the ground came up, rushing at the side of the speeder, she saw that the incredible gamble had failed; the sides would hit before the bottom did. The thought had barely crossed her mind when they hit; but instead of the screech of crumpling metal, the whine of overloading shields filled the air. A blue field appeared underneath them, rounded like the dome that had held atop them, and the craft continued its roll, tipping further and further until it bounced into its proper position, jostling everyone aboard.

Zair let out an exhilarated whoop that nearly deafened her, and she expelled the breath she had been unconsciously reserving with a loud _whoosh_. Her right shoulder was whacked by the furry paw of the Ewok, Tarfang, and she looked over to see him standing upright on his seat, jubilantly thumping both her and Jagged. Between them, Juun looked slightly green, but managed to express himself; "Chubba! Do they teach that kind of procedural maneuver at normal Intelligence training, or is that from a specialized branch?"

Laughing, she reached forward and flung her arms around Zair from behind, planting a kiss on his head in her excitement. The impromptu action startled her, and she raised her eyes to the rearcam, catching his. The laughter halted in her throat as they stare at each other, mute, and grew suddenly somber. Feeling slightly ridiculous, as much from her odd pose as from their odd look, she released him and sat back, turning to Juun. Zair tore his gaze away and turned to Jagged. Other thoughts fled as he realized that Jag was not moving. His eyes were closed, and a strange smile lit his face.

He had no time to alert the others. As he turned to tell Raal, a blaster bolt screamed past, just above his left ear, straight through the space his forehead had just occupied, and out the passenger side. His brain told him what had just happened even as his foot tromped the accelerator. The damaged speeder fishtailed wildly as he twisted around to see where the bolt had come from. The blue speeder that had cut him off earlier sat off their left side; and in it were the same two men as before, both now wielding T-21 repeating blasters. Even as he turned his attention back to the road, a second speeder, identical to the first, roared out of a side street behind them and skidded into position aft of them, about thirty meters away. This one carried three passengers, and the third one had mounted an old but deadly EHWB-12 on a swiveling tripod in the back seat. "We're in trouble!" Zair screamed as he swerved the speeder side to side, presenting a more difficult target. "Raal, incoming!" A line of bolts chewed into the rear of his beloved and – up till now – well-maintained speeder, and they all ducked, with the exception of the still-unconscious Jagged Fel.

"We are in _so_ much trouble!"

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As Zair swerved and the bolts began to miss the speeder, Tarfang stood up, screaming incoherent warcries at his five opponents. A small, Ewok-sized blaster was clutched in his furry right hand, and there was nothing cute or adorable in the way he aimed it. Even as the first bolt crashed against the EHWB speeder, the third was on it's way and his left hand had withdrawn a second blaster from his bandolier. Arms outstretched, snarling ferociously, he squeezed the triggers, and both erupted into blazing fire aimed directly at the nose of the EHWB-mounted vehicle. Both of their pursuers began evasive maneuvers similar to Zair's, and Tarfang began to fire diverging shots. His tactics proved to be effective, and Juun joined him within moments, kneeling in the back seat, facing rearwards. He produced a large Merr-Sonn Power 5 pistol, a smaller variant of the Blastech DL-44 but with a faster rate of fire, and a slightly less powerful bolt. Picking his targets carefully, he squeezed off shot after shot, several of which impacted upon the original speeder, the one that had cut them off in traffic and, presumably, flipped them over.

Raal joined the action then, firing her own S-7, produced by Theed Arms. The elegant-looking weapon had many features, but the only one she was interested in right now was 'kill.'

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Zair was driving like a madman, weaving in and out of the local traffic in an attempt to shake their pursuers. He wasn't worried about giving his passengers a clear shot; he wanted to avoid getting fried to a crisp for as long as it took for a RRU to arrive on-site. He heard the sounds of at least three, possibly four different blasters erupting from the back seat, and recognized the distinctive chatter of Raal's weapon. She was running it on full auto, which meant she was likely to run out of powerpacks shortly, but that she had a good chance of hitting something. Neither of them packed a heavy weapon, most of the time, and they didn't exactly wear bandoliers of pwerpacks under their PlanSec uniforms. He heard a whoop of delight from Raal as she scored a good hit on her opponent, and saw in the rearcam that their original pursuer had one injured passenger, and several holes in the engine compartment. The shout of delight changed quickly to one of alarm, though, and she yelled up, "I'm running too hot!" He glanced back in alarm and saw he still firing, though the pack was starting to fuse to her weapon. If that got too hot, it would detonate…

As if she was reading his mind, she stopped firing and ducked back underneath the seat. She twisted around and poked her head into the front compartment, between the seats. "What's wrong with – oh, kriff. Is he hit?"

Zair shook his head, eyes on the road. "He was out when we flipped. I'm not sure what's wrong with him. It has to wait, whatever it is."

"Think a RRU is on the way?"

He considered quickly. The Rapid Response Unit was always on standby, but it would be another few minutes before the inevitable delays were dealt with and the team was mobilized. By that time, he would be far away from his current position; they would have to chase, and attempt to plot an intercept. "It'll be a while."

"What do you have for ordinance onboard?"

He considered quickly, whipping around yet another corner and earning a brief respite from the fire of their enemies. If that EHWB ever tracked in on him… "No grenades, sadly. I do have three packets of gum, my personal sidearm…ah…nothing else I can think of except—_fierfek_!"

"What?"

He muttered something under his breath.

"I didn't catch that! Say again?"

The two pursuers came skidding around the corner, already firing. Charges spanged off the side of his vehicle, and he cut quickly across a lawn and into some poor citizen's back yard. A small Bothan child stared at him as he roared past, the backdraft from his craft sending plumes of water out of her swimming pool. Blasterfire from his enemies turned that water into steam, and she ran screaming into the house. "Under the rear seat. My CR-2."

"Are you insane?" Her voice was a high-pitched shriek, which did not help his overtaxed eardrums at all. "That weapon is pre-_Palpatine_!

"Well, it works! I've been fixing it!"

He came whizzing out of the driveway, past an elderly Sullustan washing his speeder, and turned right, narrowly avoiding a young Bith couple strolling along hand-in-hand on the sidewalk.

Raal reached under Tarfang's seat just as the Ewok dropped down to reload, and his foot came down on her hand. "Yow! What was wrong with it?"

Still swerving, Zair said, "The barrel got shot off."

"By what?"

Zair whipped the speeder around another corner, angling left. His years on the street wee proving useful; he was headed for an area with wide roads and close-together houses; plenty of room to swerve and make last-second turns.

"My aunt! Get the gun, will you?"

"I'm trying! I cant even find it!"

Zair whipped around a black speeder blocking their path, driven by a young couple. They looked up in alarm, then began to fishtail wildly as bolts from the heavy repeating blaster behind them flashed over their heads, chewing into the rear cargo compartment of the Incom Skysplitter. The EHWB machine roared up and over their heads, and the driver instinctively evaded; straight down. The nose of the shiny black model hit the ground hard, crumpling into an ugly mess, but leaving its passengers unharmed, though badly shaken. It slid to a halt and lay, smoking. The second pursuing speeder slewed around it, and came on as the bewildered couple receded into the distance.

"It's under the back seat!"

"So is my hand."

"Under the one you were sitting on earlier!"

"You could have mentioned that earlier!"

Relieved, Raal pulled out the gun, staring at it. It was a good-looking weapon, chrome and shiny black, with front and rear handgrips and a strap built to hold it. A little short, but she wasn't about to complain. A bolt from the EHWB flew past her nose as she lay half-in and half-out of the front compartment, vaporizing Zair's music player. "Stang!"

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The voice was a scream now, every word a rasping file being dragged across his sensitive mind. _You hate her, Jagged Fel! YOU WILL HATE HER!_ Rebellion drove him onward, and stubborn anger made him tear at the surrounding wall. He knew, deep inside, that the voice was lying. It was foreign, something that did not belong in his mind, and he hated it with a passion, hated it as strongly as he had ever despised everything. The commands in his mind were telling him to hate the woman he had once loved, and who now might hate him; the voice was screaming invective about the betrayal of that love. It was telling the truth; he had been betrayed, had been rejected. His will faltered, and he stopped struggling for a moment. Then something rose inside of him, something he rarely felt, but knew a lot about. His Corellian heritage, years of independence and stubbornness and practicality, came to his aid now, and he used it against the enemy inside his own mind.

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Tarfang popped up, guns blazing. It was a good thing he always carried spares; this was his second pair. The first had overheated, and he had been forced to toss them into a swimming pool he had noticed flashing by. Juun collapsed onto the seat and reloaded his blaster, breathing heavily. As the Sullustan popped up again, Tarfang focused both blasters at the speeder directly behind him, the one with the T-21 group, and nudged Juun's elbow towards the EHWB. Juun understood, and began to methodically fire away at the new target, leaving Tarfang to keep the T-21 busy. His attention narrowed to a single point, dead center in the torso of the passenger, whom Raal had already wounded. _Bleed and die, yub yub_. As the two short, Ewok-sized weapons came around he fired, and the twin blasts caught the man on each side of his sternum, sending him backwards, his rifle abandoned on the front seat.

The thermal alarm sounded on his right-hand blaster, and he looked down in alarm. Unless he stopped firing, the gun would explode with the force of a miniature thermal detonator in about forty-five seconds. When the identical alarm sounded on his left-hand gun, he began to get a very bad feeling about this. But an idea occurred to him, and his dismay turned into excitement.

Raal sat back up, her antique weapon blazing, just as Tarfang neatly hopped over her head into the front seat, landing heavily on Jagged Fel's knee. Zair glanced at him, concerned and curious, as he pulled two leather straps off of his bandolier. Tarfang quickly tied them around the triggers of his guns, something which left the human totally baffled. Then, holding the guns pointed upward, still spewing deadly fire into the atmosphere, he smiled at Zair. The ten-second thermal alarm sounded, and Zair's face went gray. He opened his mouth to warn the Ewok just as Tarfang kicked the handbrake and the speeder decelerated. With another kick, Tarfang bruised Zair's knuckles and whipped the wheel sideways, sending the speeder into a slingshot maneuver so that it was now traveling backwards. Eight seconds. Zair blinked in comprehension and jammed the speeder into reverse, maintaining speed, and twisted in his seat to look back. Juun and Raal peered over the front seat as the five second alarm sounded, and Zair hit the brakes again, twisting the wheel sideways. The pursuing craft, caught off-guard by the sudden maneuver, couldn't stop fast enough, and they both went past, the three vehicles momentarily side-by side. As they went, Tarfang threw his blasters into the nearest vehicle – the EHWB – and ducked. Zair continued his spin so that they were facing down the street, away from their pursuers, and punched the accelerator. Behind them, their two opponents split up, each coming around in fishhook loops from different directions. They had made it halfway through their respective turns when the EHWB exploded.

One enemy remained, and he was busy piloting. Their odds had just increased dramatically.

Opting for the unexpected, Zair spun once more, heading straight for his opponent. All the braking had caused something to slide out from underneath his seat, and he knew the moment it touched his leg what it was. He had been planning to drop it off at the armory for some maintenance last week when he put it there, but had forgotten. Now it might just save his life. As they drove towards each other, nose to nose, he reached down and pulled out a Verpine shattergun. Basically, the weapon hyper-accelerated an ordinary metal projectile, using magnetic forces. It made for a very powerful punch. He stood up, abandoning the controls. His opponent, seeing that Zair could not swerve even if he wanted to, tried to turn and get out of his way; Zair merely shifted his aim and tracked, a cold and predatory smile on his face. The Verpine bucked in his hand, and the projectile shot out at far past the speed of sound. Without any discernible interval, it hit the side of the blue speeder. It was like a giant fist had punched the vehicle in the side; the entire panel blew apart, and the frame inward. The repulsors, destroyed by the missile, began to fire erratically, and the speeder flipped over sideways, rolling for ten meters until it came to a stop against the side of a building. He sat down again and brought his own craft to a screeching stop mere meters away from crashing, then sat for a moment, breathing heavily. All of them stared at the crumpled vehicle; now that the crisis was over, they found time to wonder why it had been after them, and who had decided that they needed killing. When Raal saw an arm move limply in the wreckage, he knew that they would find their answers. As the first emergency sirens sounded in the distance, she leaned back against her headrest, exhausted.

Tarfang popped up in the back seat, nose wrinkling in distaste as he examined Juun's melted gun. He pointed to the crack that had begun to form in the power casing, a fatal flaw that would have killed them all if the Sullustan had fired half-a-dozen more shots. He shrugged, unimpressed, and casually threw the weapon over the side, causing them all to flinch.

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As the discipline that had been the hallmark of his career met the stubborn independence that formed his very nature, there was a moment's dissonance. Then they merged, two facets of Jagged Fel that had seemed irreconcilable, working together. The blackness in his mind began to falter; the invisible claws that held his emotions and will in check slipped. The barrier between himself and his happier memories began to crumble, and he pushed even harder, harder than he thought possible, everything he was, pushed with every victory over the Vong, every defeat suffered in combat, every feeling and emotion he had ever experienced. His love for her combined with his hate for the Yuuzhan Vong, and his rigid code met with his rebellion against his own mind. The blackness faltered at the onslaught, and dissolved into a thousand rasping pieces that flew everywhere, clutching desperately at his consciousness like mynocks on a spaceliner. Pain washed across his mind as his defiant mental shout drowned out the insidious, cloying voice forever.

_I love her_

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The sudden quiet in his mind startled him. It was cool in there now, quiet and peaceful, still well-ordered and neat. The barriers that had surrounded his mind were gone. The claws that had restrained and bound his will and emotions had vanished. The black pit of despair and pain that had been his constant companion for some indefinable period of time had been replaced with a rock, solid and sure, and he knew he could take whatever came. Through the orderly structures that defined who he was in his own mind, he caught a glimpse of a hallway, a place that had remained untouched for years, yet one that he knew intimately. As he continued down the hallway, the contents of the room beyond pressed heavily on his mind. For however long he had remained afflicted, this room had been locked for him. Even considering it had brought him pain.

Calmly, he touched the door, and it swung open. He stepped inside the room as it closed behind him. On one side stood childhood memories of his family, of his parents and sisters, his brothers. Even the shadow children were there, for the few times he had seen them were treasured. And the memories they brought, though painful, were still memories, and he cherished them as if for the first time. He continued past his life, every blessing he had ever known, and came to the end of the room. He took a breath, and faced the annex that had been constructed near the beginning of the Vong War. And he saw her. Saw his love, for the first time in a long time. He pictured her sweet face in his mind, and it was so real that he felt he could kiss it, kiss her for hours. The grim determination of combat was there, and the pain of her brother's death. The fierce joy of victory existed here in his memory, and the smoky fire of her love for him. Images and flashes for the entire time he had known her paraded before him, from the time that they had shared a drink with Kyp Durron to the first time he had forgotten what others might think of him and told her publicly that he loved her. He saw her eyes open again, when she had been freed from Tahiri's mind. Her eyes…staring up at him, with love shining out of them like twin beacons guiding him home. He looked deep into those memories, and he knew the truth and purpose of his life, which had been hidden for so long.

_Jaina_


	5. Chapter Five: Insanity

Chapter Five: Maladies of Minions -- Spectres from the Past

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Disclaimer: I'm poor. No money. You think I'm making more off of this, go kick a Noghri in the butt.

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Strangely, most of the characters in this chapter do belong to me, though I can't see any earthly good they'll do me. Anyone want a t-shirt with "I love Zair Phenir" emblazoned on it? Only $75.99!

If you're thinking that they're all mine, however, I suggest that you go spend a few months meditating in a Killik colony.

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Here we go!

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_Enough time had been spent merely meditating on circumstances. He had tried that before, to no avail. It was time to act. If the…conditioning…that he had employed on Jagged Fel failed to work, he must be eliminated. It wasn't as if he wanted to completely surrender to the dark; he would have been happy simply to ruin the man's life and claim the key. But if ruining his life failed to work, he _would_ kill him. This particular life was not all that precious to him, anyway. And he already knew how far he would go to gain the key; as far as he needed to. _

_He left his room at a brisk walk, robes billowing, and headed for his own personal transport. Thanks to the falsified alert he had placed in law enforcement mainframes throughout the galaxy, he knew where to find his prey. _

Jagged Fel was still unconscious. He had been convulsing when they brought him in, thrashing about with such force that it was difficult to restrain him. In a room down the hall, the captured assassin also lay unconscious, though not for long; as soon as Zair and Raal knew what was going on with Jag, he would be revived and interrogated. As they had already demonstrated to Jagged Fel, there were some rather inventive ways of getting a prisoner to talk.

The 2-1B medical droid hummed softly to itself as it whirred around the room, padded arms checking Jag's vital signs, while other, less soft appendages fed him via intravenous drips and extracted blood and tissue samples for analysis. When it finally turned to Zair and delivered its report in a soothing, quiet monotone, he realized that it had no idea what was wrong and was merely giving preprogrammed, conciliatory answers designed to calm frightened relatives. Disgusted, he turned on his heel and left the room.

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Scrapes and burns adorned the four conscious occupants of the targeted speeder, but the only serious wound was to Jae Juun, who was unable to move the right side of his body, due to a numbing patch that had been placed over the wound he had incurred. The hole in his side had bled quite impressively when the medics had shown up, but he stood the pain bravely, muttering something about Procedural Discomfort Reducement Exercises.

Their assailants had carried no form of identification. The two attacking speeders were rentals from the same company, though under different names. Zair doubted that the names would provide any help in identifying them. The weapons were readily available on the black market, and, almost as cheaply, in gunshops around the city. The heavy repeating EHWB could have been salvaged from nearly anywhere. Weapons were in plentiful supply after the numerous wars that had split the galaxy over the past seventy or so years.

Zair was _mad_. He wanted to know why these _di'kuts_ had attacked them, without provocation, in the middle of the street…and who they had been after. Both he and Raal were successful officers, and the hit could have been ordered by any of the dozens of criminals they had jailed, or by virtually any crime lord in the city. Juun and Tarfang were officials of GA Intelligence, and therefore a target. Jagged Fel was an ex-military man, and Zair had no idea who would want to kill him; but he couldn't rule out the possibility. Every member of their party could have been the target of the hit; or it could have been a Hutt contract on speeders of a certain color.

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He and Raal straightened as the door opened, and their immediate superior walked in, trailed by Zair's immediate subordinate. Kar Sarejo was a tough old cop, with years of experience on the street. A fiery man with a shock of red hair, he stood straight and held himself as if preparing to fight. His eyes constantly shifted around the room, evaluating everything even when there was nothing to evaluate. He had taken it upon himself to train Zair, and had watched his career from the beginning. Now that Zair himself was something more than a rookie cop, he held the older man as a dear friend, and would have trusted him with his life unhesitatingly.

Zeph Phenir was Zair's younger brother. They had the same dark hair, the same carefree smile, and the same cheerful outlook on life; though Zair's was rather depleted at the moment. Though still relatively young, Zeph had quite a few years of experience in the security force, (due to their father's involvement in PlanSec) and had undergone every special training program the city would put him through for free. He was currently assigned to the bomb squad and the reactionary VSNU (Violent Situation Neutralizing Unit). He was also a member of the Suppression or Appeasement (SoA) force, which basically ran the city's task forces and was the group called upon for the more volatile situations. He was of a slightly lower rank than Zair, which made for a lot of teasing when the two brothers got together, which was often.

Kar spoke first.

"Glad you're alive, sonny."

"Thank you, sir." Zair said, "I'm pleased about it myself."

"This is a bit of a mess, you know."

"Well, I didn't start it, if that's what you're asking."

Kar chuckled. "I didn't think you did. But we've got three smashed-up speeders, damage to speeders, buildings, and pedestrians, dead bodies with blasters lying about, a trail of powerpacks along a three-klick stretch of street, and a Bothan complaining about his swimming pool. Next thing you know, the EPA will show up complaining about Tibanna gas in the atmosphere."

Zeph peered into Jagged Fel's room. "So this is the prisoner, eh? Dangerous-looking _di'kut_, ain't he! My, my, I don't want to meet him in a dark alley with a knife; unless he was planning on using it to shave. You should get a nurse on that while he's still unconscious…"

Zair smiled briefly. Fel did indeed need a shave. If they got back to the station anytime soon, he'd make sure he got a shower..."Actually, he's not a prisoner, he's an ally. The guy we arrested is down the hall. I arrested Mr. Jagged Fel this morning, after that fight in the bar that you probably heard about. We had released him and were transporting him to the spaceport when they came after us."

"When did you start stashing hand grenades in the registry compartment? That was a pretty big explosion with that last speeder. I haven't seen wreckage like that since that time Zair and I accidentally blew up Dad's old harvester."

Kar harrumphed loudly as Zair turned as red as a Tatooine sunset. "Regardless of your past offenses, you did fairly well defending yourself. I only wish that the fight could have stopped earlier. Don't mind young Zeph, here; members of the bomb squad are a bit cracked."

Zeph grinned wickedly. "If you see me running, you'd better catch up."

Raal rolled her eyes at the joke, and changed the subject. "Any ideas on which one of us was the target?"

Zair shook his head. "As far as I know, nobody is hunting me. Tarfang? Say, where is that little-"

A secretary droid opened the door and ushered a severely rumpled and dirty Ewok inside, lecturing him severely. "That section is off limits. If the incinerators should happen to fire-" Tarfang slapped the droid on the side of the head as he passed and growled something. The droid responded immediately, indignantly saying, "I did no such thing! It's not my fault you don't have the brains of a-" The door closed, cutting off further words.

"Ah, good, the Ewok." Kar smiled.

The secretary droid, who had come in almost as soon as he left, interrupted. "Excuse me sirs and madam, but I have the autopsy reports from the perpetrators of this dreadful incident. They clearly show that they were all suffering from terminal diseases."

"All of them?" Raal sounded astonished. "Every one of these assassins?"

"Why, yes sir. None of the diseases were the same, and none of them were at the same level of advancement; but each of them would have killed the bearer within the next few months or years."

"That's odd." Kar frowned. "Who on earth would train an assassin club of old men who were dying?"

"It makes sense." Zeph dropped his shoulder pack on a nearby table and threw himself onto a nearby lounge. "I've read stuff like this before. These assassins have nothing to lose; they're dying anyway. But if they pledge this service, the last actions of their lives, the people they love will be taken care of after they die. And if they die in the service of their employer, the rewards will be greater."

"Quite the insurance policy." Zeph added. "Efficient. No need for dental; they just take 'em out every night. So…who hired them? And how do we find out?"

Raal grinned wickedly. "He's down the hall. I think it's time we woke him up from his little nap…"

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Kar stared at the Phenir brothers. "Remind me never to get on your bad side."

Zeph laughed aloud. "The look on his face...I'm sorry, I couldn't help laughing. Nice covering, by the way, bro. I liked the bit with the Ewok…

Zair glared at his brother. "Next time, put him in the room with a working holoprojector! Illusions don't work so good when they keep dying!" His voice was female, devoid of inflection or accent, sounding like everybody and nobody at the same time. He pulled a throat mike away from himself and threw it at the console.

"It worked, didn't it?" Zeph punched his brother lightly in the shoulder. "We got what we needed."

When Zair replied, this time in his own voice, he did not seem appeased. "It took me far too long to find a female voice synthesizer after he called for 'Lady'. If I'd spoken too early…"

"Say, what the garzal did you put in him?" Kar interjected. "Some kind of…weird! First euphoria, then terror…"

"It worked, didn't it?" Zeph spread his arms, mimicking his brother's voice. "And the popping holos worked fine. How did you like the touch of the multiple images?"

The projector in the corner emitted a loud _bang _and belched smoke. "That's coming out of _your_ paycheck, Phenir, not mine!" Kar's voice was an indignant shriek. The brothers looked at him indignantly, proclaiming simultaneously, "It was his fault!" They looked at each other, confused.

"Enough!" The bickering ceased as everyone looked to Raal. "You three are worse than a tribe of Ryn at a Togorian wedding! What's done, is done. We've got people asking him questions. We'll get what we need. For now, though, we have something to work with. First; what is the 'Blue Howler' that he mentioned? I'm not familiar with that kind of animal…or is it a drink?"

"It's that bar that got ripped apart a few days ago. Big fight, remember? Word is that it's closed right now."

"What I want to know," Kar interjected, "is who this 'Karlin' is. Our prisoner there tagged him as being the one who ordered the hit on Fel. Anybody recognize the name?"

"We could wake Jag up and ask him," offered Zeph.

"Sure, just shake him, right?" Raal made an extremely unladylike noise of exasperation. "The man is in a self-induced coma. We have no idea why or how, but he's not responding to any external stimuli. He seems peaceful enough now, but if we attempted to wake him, that could change. Plus, we don't really know if it would even work…"

"If what would work?" Jag walked into the room, features smooth and untroubled. To the surprised group in the squadron briefing room, it seemed that years had dropped away from his face while he had been unconscious. His eyes, though still shadowed with pain, were clearer and sharper than ever before. His back was straighter, and his face showed no traces of the pain it had once held. Yet at the same time, he appeared…older, as if he had matured a year in a day, and been strengthened by it. "Have you got a lead?"

He was followed into the room by an extremely flustered medic, who was irately demanding that he return to bed until properly examined and pronounced fit. He brushed the medic aside with one hand, and returned his attention to Zair.

"Yeah, we've got a lead. One prisoner from the fracas in the street – thanks for the help there, by the way – who has voluntarily revealed that there was a woman in charge of this whole thing, and a man named Karlin who planned the hit. It was aimed at you, by the way. Anyway, this guy is supposedly at a bar called the Blue Howler, which is just a couple klicks down the street."

Zeph piped in from the corner, "Any old girlfriends or avenging potential mother-in-laws who might want to kill ya?"

Jag's heart stopped at the words, and the demons he had vanquished only hours earlier whispered in his ear once more. The abyss was gone, and the alien presence in his mind was defeated; but suddenly he realized that there was still one impediment to loving Jaina, one problem with forgiving the Jedi.

Himself.

He shoved off the memories, not wanting others to see them. He groped for an answer to the flippant comment, and found none except the truth. "Both have tried to kill me. But they would use lightsabers, not assassins, if they wanted to do it now."

Barely aware of the incredulous and disbelieving stares of his comrades _No! Never again! No more _comrades_, nobody close! no, No, NO! _he turned on his heel and walked out of the room, taking his memories with him.

The three men and one woman in the control station exchanged glances suddenly wary and suspicious. Zair broke the silence first. "No matter who is after him, no matter what he may have done in the past, no matter who or what might wish to kill him; that man is a good man. I know it."

Zeph whistled softly. "Lightsabers...I don't suppose there's any chance that he means an ex-girlfriend who found one in a trash disposal or something, eh?"

"No." Zair felt sick. "If it's an ex-girlfriend, she would have made it herself. And she'll be unstoppable by any force we can throw at her, unless we can think of something _really _clever."

"This is one strange man, my lad." Kar's face was serious and lined. "Be sure you know what you're doing before you commit to anything."

Zair hesitated, then nodded decisively. "I'm sure. We need to get to the bottom of this." He looked out the door to the rapidly retreating man. "The Blue Howler it is, then."

He glanced at Kar, who nodded. "You are hereby authorized to investigate this by any means necessary, and with full support. Your brother and partner can assist you, and you have full access to anything you need that the station can provide. I'll go make the arrangements.

Zeph looked at Zair. "Need backup, bro? We can take my speeder, since yours has some...issues..."

"Sure. Let me just grab some extra ordinance. After last time..."

"No problem." The brothers exited the room and headed after Jag. "You catch up with him and take him to the garage. I'll swing by the armory and pick us up some toys."

"Grab my Verps, will you? Ballistics should be done with them by now."

"Of course." Zeph smiled. "Can't go anyplace without those."

He turned left into a hallway, then pivoted and turned. "Tarfang's not going to be happy if we leave him behind, though…"

----------------------------------------------------

Jag stumbled along the hallway. He needed a quiet place to think about what had just happened, somewhere he could think. The medic who had treated him earlier bustled up, took one look at him, and shooed him into a room, which he noticed dully was the same one he had recently vacated.

It was time to face what had happened. He had never allowed himself to think of the Tenupe battle all the way through. He waved off the sedative the medic offered, and settled back, closing his eyes. Anguish twisted his soul as he allowed his mind to float back, back to that day, back to the time when his life as he had known it ended.

_Burning skies and friends going down in flames. A pair of StealthX's pouring laserfire into his cockpit. Jaina's voice over the speakers. The sky spinning, and his world blurring. Smoke plumes that marked the graves of dead pilots he had trained with and argued with and spent time with, men and women whose petty fears and problems he had helped overcome, people who had come to him for advice for topics ranging from hydrospanners to hyperspace, from what to buy for dinner to whether or not to propose to their girlfriends. A close-knit squadron, Chiss who had formed a family out of strangers. They had trusted each other, had opened up their minds and hearts in a way normally alien to Chiss. And he had led them here. _

_He saw the remainder of his squadron only minutes later. Without consulting the board, he knew who made up that attacking group, and he knew who — or more accurately, what – manned the defenses of the battered Corellian freighter that they were attacking. At the highest speed his craft could handle, he flew towards it, knowing he could be too late. His headset screamed a warning as the first clawcraft exploded. _

_The medic of the squadron went first. He had been quiet about his history, hiding his past behind his present cheerfulness. A good man and a good pilot, he had always cared for the others in the squadron, and not just their physical ailments. _

_The practical joker followed almost immediately after, reduced to fragments of a burning material that Jag did not care to contemplate. He had been the one who everyone could count on to cheer people up, which was an unusual attribute for a Chiss. That had caused a lot of mayhem in the pilot quarters. _

_A more experienced pilot, Jag's own wingmate, followed next, his craft corkscrewing wildly, his screams echoing over the comm system as he fought to use controls that had been melted out of existence. He regained a modicum of control using a technique Jag himself had taught him, and headed for space. A crashing bolt from the _Millennium Falcon_ drilled through the canopy as his vehicle came about, and the transmission ceased. _

_As Jag's clawcraft sped towards them, he watched in anguish as the brand-new rookie who had worked so hard to be up to combat standard, in a brand-new clawcraft assigned to his brand-new callsign, who had only hours ago sprinted towards his gleaming cockpit, vanished in a ball of flame. Jag hailed him, hoping against hope that he had ejected; the young man reminded Jag of his own brother, Cem, a shadow child whom he could never acknowledge publicly. Empty static greeted his hail, soft buzzing where moments before a young man with a seemingly unquenchable zest for life had been, a young man whose brand-new wife in her brand-new house on a brand-new base would never again see her brand-new husband come home again, never feel his arms around her. Unspeakable pain awaited her; the lifespan of her husband, everything that he was, had just been reduced to a brief word of congratulations from one gunner to the next on a 'good kill.' A man with hopes and dreams and feelings and cares and worries and joys, whose entire life had just come down to a 'good shot' by whomever manned the Falcon's guns. Something to be laughed about later, explained in detail over a mug of lum, exclaimed over by witnesses. He was not an evil man, not a nefarious villian out for murder and bloodshed; just a man who happened to be on the wrong side of a losing battle, now only a memory in the minds of a few grieving friends; forgotten even by his killer. A word of congratulations on a particularly fine shot, and everything he had ever been no longer mattered to any but those who grieved him._

_Five craft were left in the sky. He teamed up with a pilot from another squadron…was it Nurl Squadron? as the last member of his group flew with two more Nurl pilots against the other turret. He wasn't sure of the squadron name of those three pilots, and a moment later it didn't matter, since the last three Nurl Squadron clawcraft exploded into fiery balls of flame as the relentless gunners chewed them apart. He and Zark Seven, the only other human in Zark Squadron, were the only Chiss pilots left in the sky. Side-by-side, they flew towards their target, juking and jinking in an effort to evade the bolts that flew their way. The last two members of a squadron that had trained together for over a year opened fire on a ship that Jagged Fel had saved from destruction, a ship whose pilot he had tended when wounded, whose copilot he had danced with at social events. He had once come to the rescue of this craft, obliterated his attackers and been proud to do so. The pilot and copilot had thanked him, then. Now they were doing their best to kill him. _

_The sheer unfairness and illogicality of that made Jag hesitate as Zark Seven targeted one of the two laser cannons. Jag had sat in the gunner's seat of the cannon that lay underneath his targeting reticule. Jag had worked together with people in that seat to destroy the _Falcon's_ attackers. Now he was the one attacking, evading the shots from the very cannon he had once wielded. _

_As he evaded, he kept an eye on Seven. He had watched the gunners in this craft destroy his entire squadron, and he knew that the two of them had no chance of succeeding. Duty warred in his heart with the desire to preserve this one remaining life, and the desire won out. Before he could hail him, however, the emergency frequency beeped at him, and a familiar voice came over the comm. _

"_Jagged Fel, I'm sure you know who this is."_

_He faced a choice between waving Seven off and answering the comm. One button would save the life of his comrade; the other might possibly save both, and stop the conflict between old allies. _

_He made his choice. _

"_Princess Leia?" That didn't surprise him much. Only a Jedi could have destroyed his squadron like that. It was ironically fitting, since Jedi had taken everything else away from him. "I _told_ them that it's impossible to hold Jedi prisoners." The knowledge that he had attempted to prevent their incarceration might help. He couldn't count on the fact that he had saved her life, once. That might work with a human, but not a Jedi. _

"_Well, they know now." _Come on, back off. I don't want to fight my friends…please, Princess, avert this conflict. Don't keep this going_… _

_His hopes were dashed by her next words. "If you can eject, I suggest you do it fast."_

_Despair clenched his heart, and he knew he had chosen wrong. "I've been hearing that from a lot of Solo women lately." He was about to abandon pride and duty, to plead with her not to continue this, when a flash from the corner of his eye caught his attention. As his gaze shot to Zark Seven, his HUD showed him an inlaid camview from the cockpit. Smoke blurred much of it, but the face of his friend and brother was clear. He was looking down, past his beribboned tunic, down to his stomach. The cam showed far too much detail, and Jag could see what he was looking at; a turbolaser bolt from the Falcon had ripped through the side of the clawcraft and passed straight in front of Seven, vaporizing his controls, hands, a significant portion of his clawcraft, and the front portion of his stomach. Jag barely heard Leia's next words as he stared into the HUD display, watching Seven raise his head to stare, disbelieving, directly at the cam. For a brief, infinitesimal moment, their eyes met, even as Leia's voice echoed in Jag's ears. "Goodbye, Jag." He thought for a moment that it was Seven speaking to him, but even as his name echoed through his headset, Seven's clawcraft exploded in a ball of fire, taking Jagged Fel's heart with it. He lashed out blindly, trying to bring back that final image of Seven's face, and his heart screamed "Devlin!" He barely noticed the wild tumblings of his clawcraft or the bolts of superheated death streaking past his cockpit. His entire attention was focused on the death, and the jagged tear in his heart. Then, even as a turbolaser blasted into the nose of his clawcraft, his fist smashed the ejection handle, and he shot towards the jungle world of Tenupe._ _He knew the fate that awaited him. His bitterness toward Jaina was very strong, now. He would become like her, and lose the feelings like the one he was experiencing now, the ones that made him human. Drowning in the agony that flooded his mind as he thought of Devlin's final moments, he dared to consider that a good thing. But something inside rebelled against the thought, and he banished it from his mind. He must live, for those comrades who had already passed were counting on him to keep their memories alive, to write letters to the proud and grieving wives, husbands, and families, who knew only that their sons and daughters had fallen 'in defense of the Chiss people' and nothing of those desperate last moments as the laserfire drew near, the panic and the fear that came with the death, with none of the nobleness of death in the Vong War, none of the heroic sacrifice; simply faceless men in faceless machines, shot down by former allies in a bloody conflict that no one wanted. His personal pain was nothing, for he carried inside of him the pain of a dozen others, who died when he could have. _

_But he did not know how he would face Devlin's parents, already grieving the loss of so many children. He did not know if he was strong enough to survive that…and he could only imagine what that would do to him. _


	6. Chapter Six: Revelations

_His personal craft left the docking bay with a roar of engines. His partner would not notice his absence for some time; he would have to prepare himself to allay suspicion. Jagged Fel had to die, and had to die soon. Only a lucky coincidence had put the tough Corellian out of the picture; though it appeared to be only temporary. Jag was coming back, and he was more dangerous than ever. _

_But even someone as resourceful and deadly as Jagged Fel could not prevail against the dark man who was coming to him. He had no way to defeat – wait. He did have a way to defeat the robed man; a Jedi. If Fel contacted a Jedi, the entire scheme would be likely to come crashing down. If the Jedi was a strong one, the dark figure's doom was certain. _

_But the dark man was not alone against Fel. He had two very important, very powerful allies, with equally powerful reasons to see Jagged Fel dead. At the time of the original decision, mercy had been granted, and Fel's mind tampered with. Now, though, more …drastic…measures were required. As he left Ossus, he tapped the comm panel and made a call._

Zeph Phenir clanked along the hall. Mere hours before, his brother had almost been killed in the company of Jagged Fel, and now that they both were accompanying him to their next lead, Zeph wanted to be prepared. There were three of the deadly Verpines now, slung over his shoulders. He also held a duffel bag in his right hand, with several blaster rifles stacked on top between the handles. Around his chest were strapped so many bandoliers of powerpacks that his shirt was barely visible. Over the whole thing, he wore a large robe made of armorplast, which served two purposes; it covered the array of nearly a dozen hand blasters, fully charged and ready to go, that were strapped to the inside of it; and it would keep him dry if it rained.

The Phenir brothers had always been slightly crazy about weapons, and now that they both were licensed members of the Planetary Security Division, they could carry as many as they wished. Normally Zeph only carried a hand blaster when he was not responding to emergency calls with the VSNU or SoA units, but now he was packing for both himself, his brother, and Jagged Fel. In addition to the formidable arsenal borrowed from the station weapons locker, he had a few guns stashed in his speeder, a habit he had picked up from his older brother. And he felt horribly unprepared. It was the three of them against an unknown force, and he didn't like that. He barely knew Fel, who seemed to be as unpredictable as any Corellian. And that whole thing with an ex-girlfriend killing him…Zeph knew one thing, and that was that he did not want to be in the way if Jaina Solo decided she wanted to get at Jagged Fel.

Zair was going to go get Jagged Fel and ask him to take part in the raid. Zeph…Zeph had a stop to make. Kar had laughed when Zeph told him where he was going; and it wasn't a friendly, we're-having-fun-here kind of laugh. It was a 'Oh, a Hutt hired you to feed his rancor?" kind of laugh.

He slotted his ID card into a locked door in the station's medical ward, waited for the green light, and opened the door. Peering through, he spotted his target. The Ewok known as Tarfang, who sported a half-shaved coat now, had bacta patches liberally applied to every conceivable portion of his skin. The cute little fuzzball had successfully deactivated the medical droid attending him, and was now sitting happily on the bed, swinging his legs back and forth, looking out towards the window as he knotted the pillowcase to a long string of bedsheets.

Tarfang looked towards the door as Zeph entered and leaped up, screeching frantically in an attempt to distract Zeph's attention from the sheets he was stuffing underneath the remaining covers. Gesticulating wildly and chattering angrily, he stormed across the room towards Zeph, who began backing up very slowly and raised his free arm defensively. Once he was sure he had Zeph properly intimidated, the Ewok stopped, hands on hips, and cocked his head. He spat out a terse sentence and jabbed his paw towards the visible portions of Zeph's weaponry.

"We've got a lead. I'm on my way to the garage right now…Jagged Fel, Zair, and I are going to investigate it, and I was wondering if you'd like to-"

The mouth opened in the half-shaven face, displaying some surprisingly sharp teeth. Tarfang whooped loudly as he sprinted out the door, past Zeph, and headed for the parking lot. Zeph followed, grinning ruefully, as he patted the empty space at his belt which had moments earlier held a pistol.

----------------------------------------------------------

"Jag?" Zair Phenir pushed open the door. Beyond lay a dimly lighted room full of beeping equipment and polished sanisteel. An aura of brooding silence hung, thick and menacing, over the austere bed in the center. Jagged Fel lay stretched out full-length upon it, boots propped up on the end rail. He squinted at the doorway as Zair came in and shut the door.

"Hey Zair."

"Hey."

A silence fell over them as each waited for the other to speak. When neither spoke up, Jag returned to contemplating the ceiling.

Zair was the first to break the silence. "So. Girlfriend is a Jedi, eh?"

"Ex-Girlfriend. Fiancé, if I'd had anything to say about it. Maybe its a good thing I didn't, huh?"

"Why?"

"She tried to kill me."

"Yeah, that'd put a clamper on your relationship. Was this before or after you proposed?"

"After."

Another silence pervaded the room. This time it was Jag who broke it.

"After the war, I asked her to come with me to Csilla, meet my parents and…family. She said no. I didn't push it…she said she had things to do, and couldn't make a commitment right then."

Zair winced at the familiar-sounding words. "Go on"

"We got together a few times after that, but something was different. I didn't know exactly what it was; but we drifted apart. By the time the Killiks came up, I hadn't seen her in a while. I'm sure you saw the news; she became a Joiner, along with that _di'kutla_ Zekk."

Zair regarded him intently. "Contender?"

"Yeah. Since they were kids. When she needed him after her little brother died, though, he wasn't there. I was."

"Oh." The tone of voice really said it all. Jag felt like he had just been there as a distraction, a temporary amusement. Thinking back to some of the women he had known, Zair understood.

"So when he finally came slinking back, Jedi powers all shined up and dandy, she ditched me."

"Just like that?"

Jag's gaze never moved from the ceiling. "Just like that."

"So what went wrong?"

"I don't know. She wasn't ready to settle down, I know that. She's a Jedi, off doing Big Things For The Galaxy. And marrying outside of her power apparently didn't appeal to her."

"Why are you telling me this?"

Jag shifted uncomfortably, finally dropping his gaze down to Zair. "Kriffin' good question."

Zair smiled. "I'm no shrink…

"…maybe that's why I'm talking to you." Jag interrupted.

"I'm no shrink, but I have to ask…didn't you try to talk to her? Or was that when she tried to kill you?"

"We were on different sides of the war, Zair. We had some contact, but nothing major. Then over Tenupe, while Luke…sorry, Master Skywalker…was fighting Raynar Thul, I got assigned to defend a Chiss weapon that would have ended the war. I didn't like it…but duty is duty, y'know? Anyway, she got assigned to attack said weapon. She and her toyfriend almost blasted me out of the sky. She gave me the chance to eject, though; but I chose evasion instead."

"You have to be a pretty good pilot to beat a Jedi, let alone two."

"I've had some practice. But then, the _Falcon_ – that's Han Solo's ship – went after the same target. I—I was still recovering from chasing Jaina. My squadron never stood a chance. I got there just in time to see most of them go up in smoke."

Zair knew all about the camaraderie that grew up between partners and squad members. He knew how much that would have to hurt.

"I formed up with the last pilot there…another human, like me. Rare in the Chiss military; very rare. We went in for an attack run, and I hesitated. I'd saved that ship from enemy starfighters before – did I tell you that? And now I was trying to destroy it.

"I was going to warn Devlin off when my comm beeped. I thought I could negotiate, since I knew Princess Leia. I was wrong. Devlin died while I was talking to her – I still don't know who the other gunner on the _Falcon_ was, the one who killed him. I saw it happen on my HUD, saw his face as he died…" his voice trailed off into silence as he struggled with the memories.

"I got hit a moment later. Managed to eject in time, and spent the next few months in rehab for my injuries. When I finally was allowed visitors, I had to talk to Devlin's parents…that's the hardest thing I'd ever done, Zair. They had already sacrificed children to war, and to face them then…if my heart wasn't already broken, I wouldn't have been able to do it. After that…after that, I don't know what happened. There are three months of my life missing. The next thing I remember after leaving Devlin's parents is a bar, on a planet, sipping a drink. After that, I hopped from world to world, knowing something was wrong but not finding it."

Gaping in astonishment, Zair protested, "But…but that was _years_ ago! Even with rehab, you've still got to remember _something_…"

"Nope." Jag sighed. "I didn't even try until today."

"_What_?"

"Something was blocking me. I don't know how or why, but every time I tried to think about Jaina, every time I tried to remember anything about my past or myself, there would be this…I can't describe it, but it was like the worst nightmare I'd ever experienced was trying to eat me alive every time I tried to think back. I just couldn't do it. The only thing I could think about was that day over Tenupe."

Zair shivered. "You're starting to creep me out, Jag."

"I'm scaring me, too. It's my mind that got broken. Maybe it was stress from Devlin's death. I don't know."

"And you still don't have the answer, do you? You've been lying here in the dark, trying to remember."

"Yeah."

"Why was Devlin's death so heartrending? What was so special about him over all your other pilots; and over Jaina?"

Jag swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, stretching to loosen cramped muscles. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Why?"

He stopped stretching and looked at Zair. With that one look, he could have silenced even Zeph; and that took some doing. "Because it's too painful. And even though his parents forgave me, I haven't forgiven myself."

Zair followed him out into the hall. "He died in combat. You made all the right decisions, from what I can tell-"

"Really?" Jag sounded amused. "So you've got all this experience in aerial combat?"

"I flew during the Killik Crisis."

Jag whirled on him, suddenly very, very tense. "Where. Tell me where." The flat-voiced demand sent a shiver down Zair's spine even as he responded.

"Rear-guard. They assigned me close to home as a defense fleet in case the Killiks went on the offensive. I got pulled in when they tried to break out in those kriffing hive ships of theirs."

Jag relaxed. "So you didn't fly against Chiss."

"Just bugs. Wish I'd had some sort of insecticide-in-a-can instead of proton torps, though. Just spray the _di'kutla_ things to death."

They continued their walk down the corridor, with Zair taking the lead. After a few minutes of empty, winding passageways, Jag spoke again.

"Sorry. I lost friends in that war."

"Yeah, me too." The answer was so soft that Zair wasn't even sure that he had spoken it out loud. "Me too."

Silence fell once more as Zair reached the end of the long hallway they were in and pushed open the door, letting a stream of sunlight in.

As they crossed the parking lot towards Zeph's waiting speeder, Jag asked, "Have you ever met a Jedi?"

"Yeah, once."

"Who?"

"Some guy named, uh…something almost like Darling. He needed a haircut. And new robes."

A half-smile crept across Jag's face at the description. "Why was Kyp there?"

Assuming that by 'Kyp' Jag meant Master Darling, Zair answered, "Tracking a lead. Ex-Peace Brigade causing trouble around here or something; it was actually only about a month ago. He did something weird to a couple of the civvies involved, made them forget they ever saw them. Sometimes I'm not sure if I saw him myself. He muttered something about the 'dark side' and a rogue Jedi, but it didn't make a lot of sense to me."

"Sometimes I wonder if the Jedi aren't all Dark and rogue."

That statement made Zair's neck prickle. "What do you mean?"

"It's simple." Jag smiled bitterly. "The Jedi have become the very thing that they fought against. What would you say, Zair Phenir, if I told you that I knew a Jedi who betrayed his order, betrayed his family, manipulated and twisted his friends and family, and is now considered the shining hope of the Jedi Order"

"You can't know that. Do the Jedi have any idea that this is happening?"

"No. No, I'm the only one who he contacted. They don't have a clue. I saved his family, made sure that no harm came to them."

"Then you should tell them!" Zair stopped, still out of earshot of the others, who were waiting in Zeph's speeder. "Go to a Jedi you know and trust, and tell them what's going on! You can't just sit on that kind of information and not do anything about it. If the Jedi have a traitor in their midst, then they deserve to know about it."

"You're right, of course." Jag faced him squarely. " But who? This Jedi has influence over most of the ones I know. And besides that…I have a score to settle with one of the other Jedi. I don't know which one yet, but I have something I need to do."

"You're a madman if you're going to go up against a Jedi. You need to have one of them on your side! Are you telling me that there isn't a single Jedi that you can trust?"

Jag thought about that for a minute. "There is one Jedi. She's got honor, even if the rest don't. And she's not afraid to act on what she knows, either. If I could contact her, I might have a chance."

"Is this Jaina you're talking about?"

"I used to think so. That description would have been perfect for her…but no. The Jedi I'm talking about is a Barabel, and I'm not _that_ desperate."

"I seem to remember Master Darling-" he started as Jag burst into an explosion of laughter. "What's so funny?"

"Durron," Jag wheezed. "Kyp Durron. Or Master Durron, I guess."

"Fine then, Durron. He mentioned a Barabel that was on the same case…named SoBe or something like that."

Jag nodded, still trying to catch his breath. "Saba. Jedi Master Saba Sebatyne, if you want the full title. Yeah, she's the one I'm talking about."

They turned to the speeder, and climbed in. Zeph, Raal, and Tarfang had packed the weapons and munitions already; as Jag and Zair got in, Zair – after asking Jag for permission – filled his comrades in on Jag's history. When he was finished, Raal turned to Jag.

"Jag, I don't know you very well; but I'm still surprised. Why didn't you confront, or at least report, this traitor? And why didn't you talk to Jaina? At the very least, you could have tried to patch up your relationship."

Jag stared at her, a shiver running down his back. "Say that again."

Raal looked confused. "You could have tried to patch up your relationship."

"No, before that."

"Oh. Why didn't you go after this traitor, either directly or indirectly? And why didn't you talk to Jaina?"

Jag sunk back into his seat, feeling a strange sense of unreality creeping over him. Softly, he whispered, in a voice tinged with shock and amazement, two words. "I did."

-----------------------------------------

**Holocomm recording: Five months after the Battle of Tenupe. **

_Hello_?

Hello, Jacen.

Who is this?

_A dead man. _

What?

_You must have thought I was dead, didn't you Jacen?_

Jag?

_Very good. I'm surprised that you picked out one individual from all those whose deaths you caused. Must not be a Jedi trick…you aren't a Jedi, after all. _

How did you survive?

_Not all of us need crutches. _

laugh Oh, Jag. If only you knew the power that you have tampered with. You'd have been better off hiding in the Unknown Regions and hoping I'd forgotten about you. I don't like loose ends, after all. And you know too much.

_Oh, I know that power. I just don't have it, myself. _

Wow, smart man; or maybe not. After all, since you don't have my kind of power, you can't defeat me.

_No, I can't. _

silence

_I can't beat you, Jacen Solo. After all, you're a Jedi; I'm just a good pilot who is ten times as smart as you'll ever be, and ten times the man. But there are other people out there with power, aren't there? Other people who might have a chance against you. _

fearful What are you talking about? What are you saying?

_I'm saying what you're afraid I'm saying. See, I know someone equally as powerful as you are; know her well, in fact. And I've put some pieces together, Jacen. I think I know now why Jaina stayed with the Killiks. After all, you couldn't have her in the way of your plans, could you? And from what I hear, the mind-meld can make people…susceptible. _

She'll never believe you! Not against her own brother! You're nothing to her, Fel. Nothing! She's over you, as I think she made clear.

_Was that really her? After all, she wasn't the only Joiner around…and at any rate, it doesn't matter if she believes me on that. That isn't your only misdeed, is it Jacen? And I didn't even have to dig far for these; as a matter of fact, you gave them to me. I've got some disks in my left hand, Jacen. On those disks are recordings of…certain conversations between you and I. Oh, you didn't know I was recording, did you? Yes, even as I did my duty like a good Chiss, I knew that someday I would need these. And there they are. The complete proof that you betrayed her, betrayed your parents. And you know something? There isn't a word on these disks about 'no disintegrations'. Just flight times, course plans, and shield weaknesses. Plus, of course, some good old callous brutality. _

You don't know what you're dealing with, Jag. I'll find you, wherever you are. There is nowhere to run. I'll find you, and when I do, I'll -

_Let me save you the trouble. I'm in a speeder, parked across from the Jedi Temple. From where I sit, I can see that the courtyard is deserted. I can see balcony, too; and it's not an ordinary balcony. This thing…why, you could park an X-Wing on it! I wonder whose room that is…oh, and no lying, please. I know that you're away. You can't stop me, Jacen. But I wanted you to know what is about to happen. I think you'd be best off hiding in the Unknown Regions and hoping that she forgets about you. Not that it's very likely; after all, her mother, father, uncle, and aunt all have a stake in this, too. I think they'll all be remembering this. _

I'll kill you for this, Jag.

_Yeah, I know. But you have to evade Jaina first. And you know how good a huntress she is. _

Jag, I –

_You've said all you needed to, Jacen Solo. I know what you are, and you don't care about anyone or anything other than yourself. I know full well what you intend to do to me, and rest assured, I intend to stop you. You're a greater danger than the Vong were, you know that? And what's worse, you came between me and the woman I love, tampered with her mind. I'm not going to sit down and take it, Jacen. I'm going to strike back. _

Jag! Jag? Answer me, you _karking_ _di'kut_! I swear, I am going to make you live to regret ths, Fel. You'll rue the day you crossed me. I'll make your life a living nightmare, a-"

This is K2-4XF, Coruscant Communications. The connection has been severed at the opposite end. If you wish to redial, press one. If you would like to-- 

**Holocomm transmission ended. **

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**The Jedi Temple: Two minutes later. **

The Temple was quiet. Most of the Order was somewhere else, doing something else; that was one of the reasons Zekk was down here, alone, in one of the training rooms. He didn't like being around other Jedi; he sometimes felt that they could sense the stain on his soul, if they looked hard enough. They would hear the poison in his tongue, if he spoke too much. He had sold his soul, after all; surely that must leave some sort of mark on a man.

He concentrated harder, pushing himself through his routine, sweat running down his face as he danced and spun through the exercises. His lightsaber blade blurred as he swept it back and forth. He found himself wondering if it would suddenly turn red; but that was a fanciful idea, and very unlikely. It was a crystal inside the saber that gave a blade it's color; not the hands of the man who wielded it.

He jumped as his comm rang. Jaina was most likely still asleep; she hadn't left the debriefing room until late last night. Through the tendrils of the Force that he always kept wound around her mind, he watched her tumble, exhausted, onto her bed, still clad in the same jumpsuit she had arrived in. This wasn't her; but who would it be? He discouraged contact with others, to say the least. Hesitantly, he thumbed off the saber. Striding across the room to where he had left his bag and shirt, he wiped the perspiration off of his face and reached for the comlink.

"Speak."

"Zekk?"

"Jacen! Where have you been? It's been months…Jaina is furious. If she starts to–"

"I don't have time for that!"

Zekk stood rigid, apprehension clawing at his gut. "What's the matter, Jacen?"

"Do you remember the Killik Crisis, Zekk? Do you remember the bargain we struck?" The voice of the boy Zekk grew up with had changed, though not nearly as much as the boy himself. It was now cloying, insidious. It carried an air of menace in it, and was clearly threatening.

"I remember, Jacen." His voice was a whisper. Zekk hated that he sounded so weak, so subservient.

"There are several facts about you and your relationship with Jaina that I don't think you would want her to know, aren't there?"

"Yes." This was the seventh time that Jacen had spoken those words to him, and each time the demand that followed had been more difficult, more repulsive. Zekk supposed that he'd better get used to it; he himself was, after all, evil. A line that he had crossed now marked him indelibly, even if he was the only one who could see it; though, of course, the one who had lured him across that line knew of it, as well. And Jacen Solo made full use of that knowledge.

"Jagged Fel is parked across the street."

A flash of hatred ran through Zekk's mind, and his broody resentment vanished. His thoughts were full of memories regarding his nemesis, none of which sparked any pleasure in Zekk. Even the scene over Tenupe, and the recollection of the holocomm call that he had interrupted brought him no gratification. Hate and anger suffused his mind, and he barely heard Jacen Solo's next words.

"He knows things, Zekk. I want you to stop him, by whatever means necessary. I have already shown you how to rub out memories; as long as the ones I am about to tell you about are suppressed, you can do whatever you want to him. Just don't let him reach Jaina."

The light inside Zekk rose in defiance of the darkness surrounding it, and he swallowed. "I'll do it, Jacen. But I won't kill him."

"Whatever. You have about a minute to intercept him. He's somewhere between the courtyard and Jaina's room. Oh, and I don't think I need to tell you what will happen if she senses him; after all, suppressed memories and feelings can be restored with the right stimuli. And if she became aware of how she has been controlled; well, I'm sure you've seen her angry before. She once threatened to fry you, I believe. Don't think she wouldn't; you remember how strong those emotions are. You know what a battle it is for us to suppress them, even with the various mental and emotional bonds we can utilize."

"It will be done."

"Go."

-------------------------------------------

**PlanSec Parking Lot, Present Day:**

"Give me a moment to think, please. I just remembered something, and I need to sort through it." The words were too logical and well-formed to have come out of the chaos in Jagged Fel's mind, but it was still his voice. As Zeph swung the speeder out of the parking lot, heading towards the only lead on the attack, Jag sat back and delicately lifted up the memories that had just been unlocked, examining them carefully, as if they were an explosive device that might obliterate his mind if he probed too deeply.

_He left the speeder, heading towards the Jedi Temple. Not even Devlin's death could loosen his good mood, for he finally had the key to the events that had driven him away from Jaina. Finally, he understood why she had, for that time, ceased being herself. The knowledge empowered him, invigorating him and adding a jaunty step to his walk. Jaina Solo was no more than a few hundred meters away from him, and he was on his way to see her. He'd been around Jedi long enough to understand that a mind, once tampered with, seeks to regain that which is lost. Jaina would not be comfortable right now, and when he told her the truth, she would recognize it for what it was. _

_In addition, he felt that he would be exacting some form of penalty upon those responsible for Dev's death. True, the gunner in the Millenium Falcon remained unnamed, but he could take care of that, now that he was ready to reveal the truth. He no longer felt the desire for revenge that had gripped him earlier, lying in a bacta ward with nothing to think about but Devlin's dying moments and Jaina's 'betrayal' of him. If the truth was told –which it was about to be—then the one truly responsible for much of the bloodshed in the Killik Wars was going to be revealed for what he was. Jacen Solo would not be able to lie his way out of this one. _

_He knew from Jaina that she could sense him for klicks around even if she wasn't trying; but she had not sensed him in some time, and had no reason to believe he was nearby. Also, if his suspicions proved accurate, she might even have some sort of mental block against thinking about him. The chances were good that she wouldn't know who he was until he knocked on her door. _

_An empty doorway led to an empty hallway; an information station gave him Jaina's room number when he entered her passwords, which had apparently not been changed. An empty turbolift opened up minutes later onto a deserted floor. _

_Feeling better than he had since the final battle on Coruscant, Jag stepped out into the hallway. As the doors closed behind him, he drew a deep breath, surprised at the shakiness that Jaina's nearness had caused. Then he drew another. He turned to the left, towards Jaina's room. Even as he started to step forward, Zekk materialized from the shadows in front of him. He stopped abruptly, surprised at the Jedi Knight's sudden appearance. _

"_Hello Jag."_

_Jag nodded politely and took a step towards Jaina's room. Zekk moved in front of him, blocking his path. _

"_Hello Zekk. I'd love to chat, but I'm on my way to see-"_

"_Jaina, I know. Jacen called."_

"_Uh-huh. How is Jacen, anyway? I haven't talked--" Jag flung himself towards the Jedi, fist cocked, and hit him as hard as he could. From the moment Zekk had said 'Jacen' Jag had understood how Jacen had so efficiently kept Jaina in check. _

_Caught by surprise, Zekk was slow to react, and Jag's fist caught him directly in the stomach. The breath whooshed out of Zekk and he doubled over, gasping for pain. Jag recovered his balance and delivered a kick into the taller man's face. Continuing his spin, he snatched Zekk's lightsaber from his belt and activated it, striking at the older Jedi's leg. Zekk somehow found the concentration to levitate himself out of harm's way, and landed two meters up the corridor. _

_Zekk extended a hand towards the lightsaber Jag held, and Jag felt the hilt vibrate in his palm. He flung it across the corridor towards the far wall, and even as Zekk tracked it and pulled it towards him, Jag once again launched himself. Concentrating on the lightsaber, Zekk didn't see the assault coming until too late, and took a blow to his chest. Jag's follow-up strike connected just below Zekk's left eye, and the Jedi reeled backwards. _

_Even though he was doing well, Jag knew that he could not win against the Force unless he kept his opponent too off-balance to concentrate. Even as Zekk raised his arm defensively and Jag felt a wall of something push him off his feet, he drew his charric and fired. The bolt missed as Zekk twisted out of the way, but the distraction disrupted the Force wall pushing Jag, and gave him a spare moment to think. He could not afford to remain at distance from Zekk; the Jedi could pick off every bolt the charric threw at him, and still be only toying with him. He closed the gap and swung once more, dealing Zekk a blow to the side with the butt of the charric, and receiving a strike in the stomach in return. Both men winced, but their fight continued undiminished. _

_The lightsaber blade was still lit in Zekk's other hand. Zekk swung it at Jag's head, but the smaller, quicker man ducked underneath and chopped upwards at Zekk's right hand. The edge of his hand caught the Jedi at the wrist, and there was an audible crack as a bone snapped. The saber flew out of Zekk's hand even as his face contorted in a grimace of pain, and Jag snatched it from the air as it deactivated. Thumbing the switch, Jag held the blade at Zekk's throat, aiming the charric with his other hand. Silence fell as Zekk froze, knowing that the slightest twitch would mean his death. _

"_You were one of the last Jedi I expected to go dark, Zekk."_

_Hatred flamed in Zekk's eyes as he stared back at Jag. "I am not a Dark Jedi!"_

"_Really?" Jag mocked "I don't recall attacking you. And I think your connections with Jacen are enough to convince me of your contemptibility, slimeball."_

"_You have no idea what my connection with Jacen is," Zekk sneered. _

"_Oh, I imagine I do. Jacen probably helps you control Jaina, doesn't he? In return for which, you do…what? Lick his boots clean? Hunt bounties for him? Keep her out of his way?"_

_Zekk's eyes flared orange at the insult, and his voice dropped to a hiss. "A true Dark Jedi wouldn't still be considering leaving you alive, Fel. Don't compare me with that; I only do what I have to."_

"_Right, just like Palpatine; I get it." Jag shook his head, never once taking his eyes of Zekk. "Well, I just might consider leaving you alive, if you –slowly—take out your comlink and ask Jaina to come up here. I've got a present for her."_

"_I'm afraid I can't do that, Jagged Fel."_

"_I'm the one with the lightsaber, di'kut."_

"_Lightsaber?" Contempt dripped from Zekk's voice. "I've learned a little more than that."_

_The Force caught the blade, taking it away from Zekk's throat and back stabbing towards the far wall. Anticipating the move, Jag triggered the charric, sending a beam of glowing energy towards Zekk's face, regretting even as he pulled the trigger again that it had come to this. But before Jag could lower the charric, the two beams careened off of an invisible wall, glancing about the hall and demolishing a bust of Kyle Katarn's head. Jag's backup plan was already in motion, knee coming up into Zekk's groin. It was a dirty trick, its origins back in time immemorial; but it was still very, very effective. Unfortunately, something happened that Jag had not anticipated. In the moment before his knee connected, Jagged Fel saw miniature lightning bolts arc between Zekk's fingers. Blazing, jagged forks of lightning erupted from Zekk's hands, tearing into Jag even as his knee struck the other man. Pain flared in Zekk's face, and the lightning ceased; but the damage was done. _

_Jag flew backwards across the corridor, landing heavily against a marble bust of Kyp Durron. Though Jag had once strongly desired to smash Kyp's face, the years had brought him a respect for the man, which was one reason he regretted striking Kyp's nose with his elbow. The other reason was more practical; it hurt like mad. _

_The lightning bolts started up again, tearing into Jag's unprotected body. He writhed in the grip of the strange Force, unable even to think coherently. When the attack finally ceased, Jag was barely conscious of being lifted and carried out of the Temple. When he woke up, he was in a bare, austere room. His body was weak, too weak even to move; which it couldn't have done anyway, since he was practically swathed in stun cuffs. Zekk was there each time he woke up, delving into Jag's mind, changing his memories of some things and erasing others. When he finished, Zekk implanted some final instructions and booby traps into Jag's brain, and knocked him unconscious again. _

_When Jagged Fel woke up, he was in a bar, on a strange planet, with the address of his docking bay tucked into the pocket of his pants. After unleashing his pent-up anger upon the occupants of the local bar, he made his way to the address, and found his own ship there, waiting for him._

Jag came back to the present slowly, bit by bit. He needed to assimilate all of these revelations into a coherent picture; he had the basic framework, now, but he needed more details. Above all, he needed proof.

He was still in the speeder, still rocketing along towards another fight in the endless string that stretched back to his school days. An uneasy silence filled the craft, as Raal, Zair, Tarfang, and Zeph waited for him to speak. When he had finished analyzing his information, he did.

"Jaina Solo is guarded. I can't get to her; Zekk is on Jacen's side. He's the one who tampered with my mind, when I went to see Jaina and expose Jacen.

"_Fierfek_, I can't get to her! And I can't send any of you, because he'd be too likely to sniff you out; and then he'd know I was on to him. I need someone I can trust, though, someone that Jaina will listen to…and I know just the person." He turned to Zair with a half-smile on his face. "You said something about a Barabel Jedi?"


	7. Chapter Seven: Smackdown

Chapter Seven

_Zekk manipulated the controls of his personal fighter, sending the StealthX screaming out of his hangar. Though the stealth functions weren't operable at the moment, he still preferred the more ominous craft to the older-style X-Wing. _

_He was bound for Jagged Fel. Too much was at stake to risk Jag revealing the truth. Both Saba Sebatyne and Kyp Durron were in the same region, and Zekk had never liked either very much; a favor that he sensed was returned. _

_Soon enough, though, that wouldn't matter. He could see where Jacen was going, even if the only remaining son of Han Solo could not. There was going to be a time when he would need to get out, get away, and take Jaina with him. He would soon be strong enough to control her on his own, without Jacen's help; and he intended to take advantage of that. He would find a world, obscure and well-populated, and he would rule it, with Jaina by his side. They would both be happy, and she would love him; but Jagged Fel put that dream at risk. So Jag had to go. It was a loss that Zekk would not mourn. _

Zair considered the question carefully as they rocketed along the avenue. "What do you want to know?"

Jag smiled wider, satisfied. "Anything you can tell me; I haven't seen or talked to her since before Tenupe. But I know her, and I know what she's made of. If there's any Jedi that I can trust not to reveal me to Jacen Solo, and believe my account, she's the one."

Zair nodded. "All right. But there isn't a whole lot to tell.

"Saba – that's her name, right? – Saba was tracking the same case Kyp Darl-uh, Durron was. Rumors of some renegade with weird powers, and unexplained things happening with local politics. Unrest and political sleight-of-hand; that kind of stuff. According to Master Durron, Saba had been tracking a different set of incidents than him, but he expected their paths to cross sooner or later. He told my boss to cooperate fully with her if she showed up, and gave us a description. Other than that, there isn't really a whole lot – he thought she was in a nearby system, but didn't know for sure. It was just a passing thought, anyway; he wanted us to be ready to help her if she needed it. Sorry there isn't more, Jag."

Jag sat back in his seat, thoughtful. "Was there any way to communicate with her? A comm code, a message center, anything?"

"Nope."

"Stang. I guess I'll just have to trust to luck, then. I can't risk contacting her through the Jedi Temple…there's bound to be a watch out for--" Alarm suddenly flashed through his features, and he jerked upright. "Zeph, take a different road. Drive erratically."

Zeph asked, "What? Why?" even as Zair and Raal simultaneously commented, "He already is."

"Zekk! Zekk had a flag out on me; he knows where I am! He might want to check and make sure that my conditioning hasn't broken yet…and if he comes here, we'd be in trouble!"

"But Jag, we're days away from Ossus."

"He could be nearby on a mission. I need to get off-planet, and you need to make sure you're above suspicion."

"Us?" Raal asked. "We're not in any danger. We've done nothing wrong, and our superiors will confirm that we're-"

"Do you honestly think that matters?" Jag's voice held a note of scorn. "Do you really think a Jedi would care about something that far beneath him?"

Zeph spoke up, "You mean a Dark Jedi."

"What?"

"You mean, 'do you really think a Dark Jedi would care about something that far beneath him.' Don't you?"

"What's the difference? Jedi have a history of disregard for such trivialities as local laws and officials. But yeah, I guess you're right"

"What about our lead?" Zair asked. "Remember Karlin, at the Blue Howler? We still need to find out who attacked you, and why. It wasn't Zekk or Jacen Solo, either; that captive clearly identified a woman. If someone else is in on this, you need to know who."

Jag drummed his fingers on his knees, thinking furiously. "All right. We raid the Howler, grab this Karlin fellow, and then I need to get out of here. If I were you guys, I'd request a leave of absence. Take a vacation someplace. But don't be here when Zekk arrives. Besides, I could think of a female Jedi who was under the same influences Zekk and Jaina were, and who had a lot more reason to trust Jacen than either of them."

"We'll discuss it after we raid the Howler, Jag" Zair replied. "And since it's only a few blocks from here – slow down, Zeph! – we'd better start thinking about that now instead of later."

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An Ugnaught stood at the bar of the Blue Howler, sipping his drink. The short, wispy-haired creature peered disconsolately at the bartender, slurring slightly as he held forth in his own language. The tender, who had no idea what he was saying, nodded sympathetically; after all, he was a paying customer. His false sympathy turned to confusion when the Ugnaught reached into a robe pocket and extracted a holo of the ugliest being the man had ever seen, sobbing hysterically. With an apprehensive and slightly muddled expression, the man poured the Ugnaught another drink, then moved away down the bar.

A flash of movement near the door caught his eye, and he looked up in time to see five beings enter the room. One Ewok, three human males, and a female human strode into the bar, weapons raised. Their torsos were festooned with powerpack bandoliers, and more weaponry hung from their backs and hips. Light body armor, the type favored by local security forces, protected the humans; the Ewok wore a pair of ancient stormtrooper greaves, sawed in half, strapped around his stubby legs. In addition to this decoration, the protective front cowling of a Empire-style speeder bike was somehow attached as a breastplate to his fur. As the bartender opened his mouth to protest, subtly stepping on a silent alarm that was linked to the rooms of his more shady tenants, the Ugnaught in the corner wailed aloud in fright and started shrieking, holding his holographic picture in front of him like a talisman. Undecided, the bartender looked from the new group to the Ugnaught, unsure of which to yell at first. His customers twisted around in their chairs in the hopes of witnessing the fight, and were visibly discomfited by the sight of the five fighters in the doorway, who were in a defensive formation covering every corner of the room.

The Ugnaught drunk continued to jabber, becoming more aggressive as he wound himself up. The holograph was now being shaken at the newcomers, accompanied by periodic jabs at the rest of the Howler's customers. Even as they began to growl in anger, fingering weapons, the Ewok brought matters to an abrupt conclusion by drawing his blaster and, with a sneer of contempt, blasting a hole in the holo.

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Jag should have been prepared. He, Zair, and Raal had fanned out in a diamond formation, with Zeph in front, sandwiching Tarfang. Unsurprisingly, though, Tarfang disrupted their plan – to talk their way upstairs and break into Karlin Zyber's room once they were up there – by drawing yet another one of his miniature blasters and blowing a hole through a holo that an Ugnaught was clutching over in the corner. Even as the echoes faded, the tearful creature looked up with a venomous expression and launched himself at Tarfang, stubby arms outstretched. Tarfang accepted the challenge with a howl – it was so incoherent, Jag wasn't sure if it was a warcry or a mating call, though circumstances seemed to point to the former – and threw his blaster to the side, cocking his own small fists and wading in to the fight. The loose blaster struck a chair and discharged, singeing the few hairs remaining on a nearby Weequay's head.

Every plan they had laid had just gone out the window. Jag abandoned their tight formation and charged wildly up the stairs, with Raal and Zair following. Zeph remained behind, throwing himself into the fray with Tarfang, trying to stay between the door and the stairway, attempting to keep them both clear. Jag lost sight of them as the stairway turned, and he found himself in a long hallway, with doors spaced at equal intervals throughout. Even as the trio reached the top of the stairs, most of those doors flew open and disgorged a variety of sapients. Some were dressed in nightwear; some in street clothes; some in nothing at all. They ranged from Bith to human to Shistaven, and back again. They were at varying levels of alertness, varying heights and strengths and relative fitness levels; but they were all armed, and all dangerous-looking.

He never hesitated. Even as the tenants of the Blue Howler looked up in alarm, he let loose a flurry of stun bolts, sending the blue streaks whipping into the crowded hall, temporarily incapacitating several. Zair and Raal, working as a team, let loose their own weapons, adding their stun bolts to the melee. As the hall's occupants began to recognize their danger and fight back, Raal grasped a Czerka Headbanger that was slung across Zair's back. When he felt her touch, Zair bent almost double and turned sideways, allowing Raal to, without disentangling it, swivel the weapon and let loose a stream of the ultra-heavy bolts rip into those foolish enough to have remained in the hall. When all their opponents had either retreated into the hallway or been stunned, Zair and Raal moved forward again, with Jag taking the rearguard in case anyone tried to shoot at them from the safety of a room. As luck would have it, Karlin Zyber's room lay at the very end of the hall, which meant that the trio had to advance all the way down it. The doors on either side proved to be a serious threat, since the lodgers could shoot from cover inside of the room. Both Jag and Raal took minor flesh wounds, and Zair had the surface layer of skin burned off of his left arm by a near miss.

When they reached the end of the hallway, Jag once again leapfrogged to the lead, taking up position outside of the door to the room. Raal and Zair dropped easily into defensive positions, weapons aimed down the hall towards the irate patrons of the Blue Howler. Jag holstered his two pistols and withdrew a Verpine shattergun from it's back holster. He calmly checked the slug in the chamber, then patted his side-access weapons to ensure that they were easily obtainable. He withdrew a soft, pliable strip from a pouch in his combat vest and slapped it against the top edge of the retracting door. Working quickly, he pressed a detonator into the makeshift charge, and stepped back. He took three paces back, pressed a wrist control, and charged forward. The explosive charge detonated, billowing out a huge cloud of smoke, and the door hissed upward just as Jag barreled through. He dove into a forward roll, aiming sideways to get out of the doorway, and came up with the Verpine extended, ready to shoot. Two men stood with their weapons still aimed at the doorway, guarding a second, inner door that Jag assumed led to the bedroom. As they reacted to his presence, he triggered the Verpine, and all three guns went off at once.

------------------------------------------------------------------

Zeph wondered what was happening upstairs. The thought did not hold, since he was forced to duck as a chair came crashing down on his lightly-armored back and he had to defend himself. Tarfang had – probably intentionally – triggered a full-scale brawl, and it was up to Zeph to make sure that he and his companions could exit when they needed to.

The way out was blocked by a seething mass of enraged citizens, all busily engaged in bashing away at whoever was nearby. The fight, which had started out as Ewok-supporters vs. Ugnaught-supporters, was now a free-for-all. People who had originally started out on one side now assaulted their erstwhile allies, and – as far as Zeph could tell – there were about thirty-five 'sides' at present, with more being created every minute as other patrons, bored with merely watching, joined in. Along the far wall, ten or so sat watching the others clash, enjoying themselves thoroughly as they cheered for strangers and laid bets.

Zeph had three goals in mind – to avoid getting his head smashed in, avoid permanent disfigurement, and find Tarfang. Since the average patron was taller than the Ewok by a meter or two, and perfectly willing to take a swing at any available target, this was proving difficult. Also, Zeph's progress was hampered by people who decided he looked like a prime target, or people who were too caught up in the fight to care. Dodging the chair on the backswing, he leapt onto the back of its wielder, thereby placing his sightline above the others and confusing his opponent. This enabled him to see Tarfang, over in the corner, still pummeling the Ugnaught; but it had its downside, too. From his high vantage point, he was the most visible one in the room, and that proved disadvantageous. A veritable hailstorm of bottles, boots, and other assorted debris whizzed towards him, and he was struck solidly in the face by a Kowakian monkey-lizard. He had no clue what the beast was doing in the bar, but it quickly expressed it's displeasure and leaped, screeching invective, for the ceiling.

Zeph fought his way over to Tarfang's last position, but when he reached there, all he found was the Ugnaught. The last few hairs on its head had been pulled so hard that small red spots surrounded the base of each one, and it exhibited every sign of being very, very sore come morning. Tarfang was nowhere to be seen.

-------------------------------------------------------

Jag's shot hit one of the two mercenaries, sending him staggering backwards into the refresher, crashing to the floor. The two bolts aimed at him both hit to the left side, one so close that it send a spray of long, sharp splinters into his hand, where they lodged, jutting out from his skin like the needles of a Worxian Spiner. With his right hand, he fired again, missing the merc but blasting a good-sized hole in the wall where the hyperaccelerated magnetic projectile hit it.

Both combatants dove/rolled for cover, and wound up behind a chair and a toppled table, respectively. The mercenary aimed his bolts so that they splashed off the edges of the table, hoping to catch Jag coming out for a shot. After watching the bolts flash by his hiding place for a moment, Jag turned around, guessed the approximate location of his target, and blindly shot straight through the table, triggering four rounds into the area he guessed his opponent occupied. The gunfire ceased, and he cautiously peered through the resulting holes. All that was visible was the destroyed chair, with an outflung hand and a blaster rifle sticking out past one end.

Satisfied, Jag stood and turned his attention to the bedroom door. On the other side of that door lay another key, a key that would hopefully unlock the secret of who wanted him dead. _Besides the obvious, of course_. He crossed the room and pressed his ear against the wall to the left of the door, listening for any clue as to the whereabouts of the room's occupants.

He was at first puzzled, then amused, to hear frantic sobbing coming from the other side.

------------------------------------------------------

Zeph fought his way to the edges of the melee, seeking a respite. He came out on the side of the fight closest to the bar, and vaulted neatly over it. He had no sooner landed and dropped below the level of the bar than a blaster shot rang out, and a bolt shattered bottles behind him. Unsurprisingly, this fight had just gotten uglier, and degenerated past just fists and elbows.

Rolling onto his back and drawing his weapon, Zeph looked left, towards the end of the bar closest to the stairs. Clear. He looked right, towards the door. Tarfang was seated on the bartender's chest, a bottle in each hand. With one bottle, he whacked the tender over the head; with the other, he slaked his thirst. Zeph groaned and crawled over, taking the bottle from Tarfang's hand just as he was about to smash that one, too, over the head of the now-unconscious bartender. The Ewok chattered angrily, but replaced the blaster when he saw who had interrupted him. Zeph took a long pull at the bottle, then lobbed it over the counter towards the hullabaloo in the middle of the room. Grasping Tarfang's elbow, he tugged the protesting Ewok towards the door, pausing long enough to drop a credchip into the unconscious barkeep's hand.

"Zair! Come in, Zair! Exit One is unfeasible, repeat, Exit One is _not_ viable! Any ideas?"

--------------------------------------------------------

Jag blew through the door like a wampa through a snowdrift. Even as the dust settled, he triggered the two Verpines he now clutched, sending their accelerated rounds into the closet – where the automated clothing station blew apart, releasing a flurry of smoking and scorched shirts into the air; and into the ceiling, sending an avalanche of pulverized building materials crashing down into the floor.

He paused, amazed, at the sight before him.

He could only guess that it was Karlin Zyber; after all, the facial characteristics and the identifying marks that he had memorized from the PlanSec databank had mentioned nothing about Zyber's _shebs_ and lower legs. The pudgy man had tried to climb through the ventilation shaft, only to become stuck halfway in. Now his legs stuck out of the shaft, wiggling frantically, and his sobs of fear and frustration echoed eerily through the winding metal pipe. Shoving the Verpines into their holsters, so that the butts stuck out above his shoulders, Jag grabbed hold of the feet and pulled, ignoring the screech of protest and the sound of fingernails clawing at durasteel.

Zyber popped out of the chute and landed facedown on the floor, shoulders shaking. He lay there, making no effort to rise, until Jag laid a hand on his shoulder. At the touch, the fat man rolled over and swiped a vibroblade at Jag's stomach; only a quick hop backwards saved him from being cut badly. Karlin attempted to leap to his feet, but was hampered by his ample gut. Instead, he rolled to one side and scrabbled to his feet, swinging the vibroblade wildly in Jag's direction, his sky-green bathrobe flapping crazily about his excessive girth.

Jag rolled his eyes and moved in.

The first kick landed on Karlin Zyber's left kneecap. The big man howled in pain and clutched it with one hand, placing his forearm directly in the path of Jagged Fel's next kick. Hobbling forward, he once again attempted to disembowel Jag, but Fel slipped easily inside the assault, landing a crushing blow to the man's midsection. Through some miracle, Zyber remained upright enough to make one more feeble slash, a cut that drew blood along Jag's right arm when he blocked. Angry now, Jag hit Zyber once more in the gut, then landed a lightning-quick combination of blows to Karlin's stomach, kidneys, and right eye, which quickly swelled. To finish him off, Jag spun away from the fat outlaw, chopping down viciously at the hand which held the knife. The bone broke with an audible _snap_, and he howled in pain, dropping the knife. Jag had already launched a kick, though, which caused the man's howl to cease; the toe of Jag's combat boot landed squarely between Karlin's legs. A soft gasp of pain escaped the man's gaping mouth, and his skin turned a pasty green color. His eyes rolled up in his head, and he collapsed, insensate, on the floor.

-----------------------------------------------------

Jag wiped his arm off on Zyber's bathrobe and triggered his comlink just in time to hear Zeph's report.

"Zair, did you hear that?"

"Aye."

"Can either you or Raal assist?"

"Neg on that, Jag. We're trading heavy fire with the locals here, and can't advance."

"Come on in, then, and bar the door behind you."

"Roger."

"Zeph?"

"Here." The young man's voice was taut with frustration

"Can you and Tarfang get out?"

"If he doesn't decide he wants to stay and play."

"Do what you have to, short of permanently maiming him. Meet us on the north side of the building."

"Roger that, Jag. Out."

Jag strode towards the outer room of Karlin Zyber's suite, leaving the unconscious man behind. Raal and Zair backed through the outside door. The two of them were holding the door of the room across the hall as a shield, trading fire with the various individuals in the hallway. The shield wouldn't fit into Room 62, so they abandoned it, leaving it as a blockade.

Jag knew that the residents of the Howler were unlikely to follow; this was clearly none of their fight, now, unless they took offense at being rousted out of bed. Chances were high that most of them would simply go back to bed, especially since non-lethal bolts had been used.

After a brief conference, he triggered the comlink again. "Zeph? It's Jag. Are you on the north yet?"

Silence greeted him.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Zeph snapped off the comlink and looked at Tarfang. Tarfang was busy at the moment; hearing the battle raging across the taller bar was frustrating him to no end, since he was too short to see over. Zeph grasped the Ewok by the hand and tugged him down the length of the bar, past the smashed crockery, towards the door. Tarfang protested at first, but stopped when Zeph pointed out that Jag had completed his mission, and that another interrogation would be coming up. This attraction won Tarfang over, since he had enjoyed the last one immensely, and he followed compliantly, though he did pause every few feet to hurl detritus over the bar towards the fray.

A problem arose when they reached the end, and the fight became visible. Tarfang gazed at the scuffle, a misty look appearing in his eyes, and began to push towards it. Zeph had anticipated this, though, and grasped the Ewok firmly by the back of his bandolier, lifting him bodily off the floor and sprinting through the door onto the street outside.

"You little furry womp rat! Have you got any sense at all in your head?" Zeph shook Tarfang vigorously, avoiding the Ewok's flailing attempts to escape. "I swear, sometimes I think I should just shoot-"

The rear bodyplate of Zeph's armor was suddenly pulled away from his body. Dropping Tarfang, he turned to face the new attacker; but only made it partway through the turn. He was lifted clear off his feet, much to his surprise and Tarfang's delight. He fought to defend himself, but found that his attacker was much too strong; and when he the invisible attacker shook him wildly, he lost most powers of thought. After a moment, he was set, none too gently, on the ground. The moment he regained his balance, he went for his pistol, spinning to confront his attacker.

He froze when he felt an emitter nozzle pressed to the side of neck.

"Thiz one would not advize you to finish that, human. Though Tarfang iz by no meanz weak, I would still defend him; after all, we have made killz together, he and I."

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"Zeph, are you there? Kriff, answer me! We need help getting out of here!"

The improvised barrier, composed of Room 61's door, and Room 62's furniture, was shaking apart under the pounding it was receiving. Outside, the enraged tenants were firing into it, seeking to disintegrate it through sheer firepower; and succeeding.

Jag, Zair, and Raal had retreated inside of the bedroom with the unconscious Zyber. They had barred the only door, though the lodgers outside had not yet broken into the outer rooms. Aside from the door, the only possible exit was a balcony that overlooked the street, one story down. If Zeph didn't respond in the next few minutes, they would have to utilize it and hope for the best.

Jag changed his mind when the outer barricade fell apart with a crash.

"Time to get out of here, folks! Zair, you drag Zyber outside. Raal, you stay here and cover our door. I'm going to look for a way down."

They split up, each going about their assigned tasks with a speed born of desperation. Zair hauled the deadweight Karlin outside, while Raal knelt behind a desk, facing the door, which was now starting to glow red. Jag cast about the room, looking for anything he could use; his eyes caught the bedsheets, but there was no time to waste in tying knots. Lifting a Verp off of his shoulder, Jag started blasting away at the anchoring supports for the bed. The bed still retained its anti-grav field, which was designed to be soft and yielding; and Jag planned to utilize that.

When Zair returned, he took Raal's place covering the door while she helped Jag haul the bed out onto the balcony. Jag's Verpines took care of the flimsy railing, and together, they stood the oversized bed up on end, so that the underbody and the internal workings faced the street. They stepped back, and Jag threw a piece of the patio furniture – a sensichair that was designed for the more…ample…beings of the galaxy – at the soft, yielding repulsor. The impact was enough to tip the bed over, sending both pieces of furniture plummeting to the ground below. The bed bounced once, but wound up upright; the chair hit the sidewalk and broke.

"Zair! Get out here!"

The PlanSec official came out, gun still covering the door. Pieces of it had fallen off, and the improvised barrier was now the only thing holding it in place. Jag motioned Zair to jump off the roof, which he promptly did, landing easily on the bed, and rolling off. He retrieved his weapon, which had bounced in a different direction, and slung it over his shoulder.

Jag turned as the door shrieked in protest, Verpine's out and aimed. Curious pedestrians gathered just in time to see Raal deliver a swift kick to Karlin Zyber's midsection, rolling him off the balcony and onto the bed. Her aim was poor, though, and the fat man proved to be too much for the bed's repulsors; he bounced off the antigrav field and hit the sidewalk, groaning. The holographic image of a soft, comfortable cushion flickered and faded, and the bed's circuitry began to spark.

The bedroom door snapped in half. Jag pushed Raal towards the edge of the balcony. She overbalanced, but managed to direct her leap enough to land on the unhurt side of the bed; which began belching smoke the moment she crawled off. As the first lodgers came into the room, guns emitting red flashes, Jag withdrew a Chiss vape charge –which was highly illegal—from underneath his jacket. He armed it for four seconds, threw it back into the room, and turned, sprinting for the balcony.

As he reached the edge, the vape charge went off. There was no explosion, no fireball; simply an enormous pressure wave that reached out in a circle around the charge, and disintegrated everything in it's path. Jag's feet left the balcony even as it's supports vanished, and he leapt out into open space, yelling.

Before he hit the ground – a crushing impact that would have snapped his legs, feet, and most likely his spine – he felt an invisible, gigantic hand grasp him. His fall halted, and he hung, suspended in midair. As he was lowered to the ground, he looked to his right and saw the giant figure of a female Barabel dressed in Jedi robes standing a dozen meters away, hand outstretched.

As his feet touched down, the Barabel smiled. "It iz good to see you again, Jagged Fel. I waz concerned about you, but did not expect our pathz to crosz again."

He smiled back, feeling genuine relief seep through his body, relaxing his taut muscles and calming his mind. "Hello, Saba."

---------------------------------------------------------

They sat alone in a corner of the crowded PlanSec station. Jag held a self-heating cup of caf; Saba eyed the Kowokian monkey-lizard, which had somehow tagged along with the arrested patrons.

"It's good to see you, Saba."

She regarded him intently – or at least, he thought she did. Barabels were _blasted_ hard to read. "When did you leave the Chisz military, Jagged Fel?"

"After Tenupe."

"Ah. That explainz much. I tried to contact you, once. Cem replied, asking if I knew where you were."

"You're not supposed to know about a shadow child of the Fel family."

Saba shrugged, an oddly human gesture. "Wyn tellz many secrets."

Jag snorted. "That's the truth."

Saba bristled. "You challenge me to – nevermind. I still have much to unlearn."

"Well, you're making progress, apparently."

"Thiz idle talk is nice, but it haz no bearing on our conversation. Zeph told me you wished to talk with me, but did not reveal why."

"I need two things from you, Saba. The first is simple; I have something that I need to warn you about, and which I would like to hear your advice on."

Saba's forked tongue shot out between her black, pebbly lips as the Kowok came leaping past, pursued by an irate protocol droid. "And the second?"

"I need to know the name of the Jedi who manned the port gun turret in the _Millennium Falcon_ during the Battle of Tenupe."

Her attention focused entirely on him as he finished the sentence, and she gazed at him even more intently than before. "Why?"

"I have unfinished business with that Jedi. Something I need to do. And by extension, I have unfinished business with the entire Jedi Order."

Jag stared, unblinking, as Saba studied his face. "What will you do to thiz Jedi? And what do you plan to do to the entire Jedi Order?"

His voice was calm, reasonable. "I am going to ruin that Jedi. And I am going to destroy the Jedi Order."


	8. Chapter Eight: Barabel

Chapter Eight: Barabel Wisdom

Saba hissed in shock and drew back, instinctively reaching for her lightsaber. Jag watched with a small smile as she made an effort to relax, and let go of the hilt.

A silence stretched as they studied each other, carefully measuring what they saw in each other.

-

Saba saw a human she knew and respected, albeit one who was looking somewhat scruffy at the moment – Barabels, with their scale-covered, pebbly skin, do not understand or appreciate the aesthetics of facial hair. Jag had changed since she last saw him, grown harder, more mature, and _older_. He did not appear insane; on the contrary, he was sitting quietly, studying her in much the same way that she studied him.

Saba was no judge of human beauty. The strange, smooth skin of humans, the unfamiliar flatness of their faces, their oddly shaped eyes, and their complete lack of a tail were characteristics she had grown accustomed to observing, though they could still startle her if she wasn't careful. She had learned to ignore the automatic response to human's odd appearance, though, and judged them by their actions and character. Jagged Fel was one of the most respected humans she knew; he had, over and over again, proved his bravery. He tended to plan a little too much, she admitted, but overall she was favorably impressed. He did not wildly display his emotions like other humans; his loyalty, once won, was unmatched. She would not hesitate to trust her back to him in a fight, and would welcome the chance to hunt with him. But he had just threatened the entire Jedi Order, and her specifically – though of course, he did not know he had threatened _her_…but such trivialities mattered not.

The inexplicable betrayal of his love by Jaina Solo was something Saba did not understand; but she had her own problems to watch at the time, including the increasingly strange behavior of her son, which was later explained by the Joiner bond. In addition, she was growing concerned about some of the younger members of the Jedi Order; all in all, Jagged Fel had not been at the forefront of her mind, though she was still mildly disappointed that he and Jaina had not chosen to become life-mates. She would have _loved_ to see what hunters that union would have produced…

-

Jagged Fel saw the Barabel Master before him, a sometimes odd – actually, most of the time odd – and unpredictable being. Dark, pebbly skin covered in tough scales blanketed her entire body, and she had a _tail_; in addition, she was fierce and wild, with a tendency to simply charge headlong into situations and trust to the Force to come out on top. He knew, though, that in situations that could not be resolved by an ignited lightsaber, the quiet demeanor covered a sharp mind, which was arguably shrewder than even other Jedi Masters.

He trusted her more than most of the Jedi, because her sense of honor was not bound up entirely in the oft-changing Jedi perception of good and evil; and that she had not wholeheartedly embraced the amoral beliefs of the Jedi. Also, the Jedi he had gotten to know better were too closely connected to either Jaina or Jacen; he was not going to take a risk. Kyp Durron would likely be too ready to reason with Jacen, given his own history; though Jag would have gone to him without hesitation if he had not found Saba.

He'd just threatened one of her fellow-Jedi (Though he did not know who, yet) and told her that he was going to destroy her Order. Once she was past the initial, instinctive reaction to fight, he knew that she would attempt to figure out what he meant by that, besides the obvious.

-

At length, Saba spoke.

"That iz a surprising statement to make, Jagged Fel. Particularly to a Jedi Master."

"I know." He waited for her to put the pieces together, as he knew she would.

"You would not make an idle claim, thiz one thinkz. Yet thiz one cannot believe that you mean to hunt down the Jedi and destroy them, az did the Emperor and Vader."

"That is correct."

"You cannot touch the Force. You would likely defeat some of the Jedi, but not all. Unlesz you have some new weapon; but why would you do such a thing?"

"Can you not guess, Saba?"

She frowned, her forked tongue flicking out to taste the air, as if she could detect the taste of Jag's power, sense the source of his strength. "Thiz one doez not know, Jagged Fel."

He leaned forward, pinning her with the intensity of his gaze. "The truth, Saba." His eyes burned with his conviction, his face echoed his determination. "That's all. And when the Jedi know the truth of themselves, it will destroy them.

"But from the ashes of their delusions, a new hope will arise. It will be hard. It will hurt. But I believe, Saba – I believe in the Jedi. I know that there are Jedi like you, Jedi who do not like the direction that the Order has taken. There are other Jedi, who do not understand the new path, but accept it blindly, unaware that the truths they are being taught are, in fact, lies. Because_ their teachers don't know it, either_!

"Then, of course, there are some who see where this will take the Jedi, and do nothing to stop it, whether from fear, or pleasure, I do not know. Nor do I care to." The mesmerizing voice dropped in volume, forcing Saba to listen even as her mind scrambled to find order in the chaos that had moments ago been her life. "Then there are those who caused this, Saba. Those who know where the Jedi are going, and encourage it, knowing the end. And _I know who they are_.

"I can't do this myself, Saba Sebatyne. There are…extenuating conditions that might harm my reputation. Some 'Jedi' would willingly kill me to stop me, and I can't defend against that. Almost everyone else would refuse to listen, though I believe I could get through to some, like Luke – if I could make it that far. I no longer have any power or influence that I can use to affect any Jedi; and I don't know of any I can trust without holding some power over them. Except you. And Kyp. That is why you must help me, Saba. Because I believe that you can see it too, and come to the same conclusions that I did. I believe, Saba, that you have the courage to confront what I have to say, listen to it without prejudice, and see if it is true. And not only that, but you will act on whatever you believe to be right."

He sat back then, feeling his strength ebb, draining from his body. He had just staked everything on the Barabel Master across from him; now he had only to wait.

He didn't have to wait long. Without a word, Saba rose and stalked away from him, heading out into the city.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Zair joined him some minutes later, and together they left the PlanSec building. Raal was outside waiting by the curb, and by the time they reached her, Zeph had pulled up. Above them, the myriad stars twinkled, each one supporting several worlds, each world crammed with billions of human beings, none of whom cared about small events on small worlds a galaxy away.

But Jag knew better. He knew how a rumor on one world caused a war on another. He had seen petty squabbles on a planet spread throughout an entire system. He knew that there were beings who could change the course of the galaxy. He couldn't see how, of course. And he couldn't see who, among all those trillions of sentients, would trigger what.

But he could do something about the humans he knew would trigger something. Unless Jacen Solo was stopped, he would be a greater evil than the Emperor, a worse threat to the galaxy than any Jag knew of. The Chiss might be able to take care of themselves; but after spending so much time defending the rest of the galaxy, Jagged Fel could not stand by and watch it go down in smoke. He would do what he had to.

Jag took the backseat, and was surprised to discover Juun and Tarfang there before him. Both were asleep, snoring loudly. Tarfang, never waking, idly bit at Jag's hand as he climbed in, and kicked him.

Zair slid in beside his brother, and Raal squeezed in next to him, something Jag watched a detached amusement. Both were somewhat awkward about being so close to each other, but trying to appear normal and relaxed. As the speeder pulled away from the curb, Raal gave up trying to stay away, and put her head on Zair's shoulder. He jumped slightly, but his curving smile betrayed him to Zeph. The younger Phenir grinned and poked his brother with his elbow; but stopped when Jag reached forward and flicked his earlobe. A contented silence settled into the front seat, and Jag relaxed, leaning back and closing his own eyes. He stayed awake, though; there was much to think about.

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Zeph opened the door quietly, doing his best not to awaken the sleeping pair in the front seat. Jag slipped out, carefully avoiding sudden movements and jostles, and stood next to the younger man for a long moment.

"Will you be okay?"

"Yeah. Thanks for dropping me off here."

"If you need us in the morning, call. You've got our comm frequencies."

"I'll do that, Zeph." Jag turned away and walked into the spaceport's confines, heading towards his ship.

"Jag?"

He stopped, turning back to Zeph. "What is it?"

The young man looked at him seriously. "Will she come?"

Jag considered the question, then nodded. Zeph, apparently satisfied, turned back and entered his vehicle, accelerating gently away. _I hope she comes, Zeph. I hope._

------------------------------------------------------------------------

He punched in his access code to the keypad, which showed no attempts to force entry, and no suspicious activity. Sighing, he strode to the comfortable middle lounge, where he dropped his pack. Unfastening his jacket, he flopped down on the couch, facedown. He waited five seconds, then said, "You've decided to hear me out, then."

"Yez."

"Even though I tell you that it will likely destroy much of what you hold dear."

"Yez. How did you know thiz one was here?"

He smiled, briefly. "I didn't. But empty air would have never told of my miscalculation, would it?"

Soft sissing was his reply, and he saw the hulking Jedi Master cross the room and sit in a chair opposite him. "So, Jagged Fel. Here thiz one sitz, and there you lie. I have come to hear what you have to say."

"Thank you, Saba."

"You lied."

"_What_?"

"You knew thiz one waz here."

"Oh, that." Jag had been genuinely scared for a moment, there. "I rigged up my system so that it warns me by comlink about suspicious activity. But since waving a hand over the lock isn't terribly suspicious, I took a second precaution."

"What waz that?"

"It always registers at least one suspicious activity log during any time period I'm away. So if there are none…it means that someone has gotten inside and changed the log."

Saba regarded him with amusement and respect. "Thiz one had forgotten how clever you are, son of Fel."

A brief, annoying jab of pain washed over him at the title, but he did not reveal it. "The Jedi have become what they once fought, Saba."

"Thiz one had also forgotten that you do not wazte time with idle speech."

"At least, not when I am around you."

"How have the Jedi become what they once fought? They are not Sith, nor are they Vong."

"Ah, but what about the Dark Jedi, Saba? Those who forced entire planets to bend to their rule. And what about the petty tyrants that popped up everywhere after the Empire fragmented?"

Saba's tone was sharp, reproving. "The Jedi do not rule planetz, Jagged Fel. Nor do we carve out our own chunks of the galaxy to dominate."

"Ah, but why did the Jedi fight those who did? I realize, of course, that you were not part of much of that; you were still on Barab I. But surely you must know."

She sat back, delivering her answer as if she already knew the trap that she was in – which she did, of course. "To defend the weak, and protect the innocent. To stand firmly in the way of those who would enslave or oppress others. To prevent—" her voice faltered, broke, then went on "—to prevent those with power from misusing or abusing it, and forcing others to conform to their will. To grant those people freedom."

"I'll return to that in a moment. What is a 'Dark Jedi' – or rather, what _was_ a Dark Jedi?"

This answer, too, was unwillingly given, and Jag knew that Saba could see how weak it was. "Anyone who practicez or usez the Dark Side of the Force."

"I assume that you can see where I'm going with this, so I won't stop to explain. What, Saba, do the Jedi now believe about the Dark Side?"

Saba's tail slapped, hard, against the floor. Through clenched teeth, she said, "You have made your point, Jagged Fel."

"Have I? I thought I was just beginning."

She stared at him. "You are not the only one who can see in thiz galaxy, Jagged Fel. Thiz one also recognizez the signz."

"Let me finish, Saba, for my own peace of mind if nothing else.

"The Jedi, under Luke Skywalker, spent decades of fighting to uphold and perform the same ideals that you just mentioned, Saba. Now, where are they? They have abandoned the view of an external Dark Side in favor of an internal one; yet they somehow seem to believe that this means there is no Dark Side! Now, of course, the Jedi use something that _they call the Dark Side_ to perform their tricks and acrobatics, all the while claiming that they don't believe it exists! Do you see the folly? Even if they are correct, the very belief that they are using the Dark Side means that _they are_!

"They justify their actions, saying that it is for the 'greater good' that they kill people, for the 'greater good' that they ride roughshod over civilians who don't know what the Jedi know, because the Jedi are Powerful Beings With Big Secrets!

"I ask you this, Saba, and I want you to listen, and listen good. There's going to be a rebellion coming. It's inevitable. It may be to the GFFA, but it's going to be also aimed at the Jedi, just like the Clone Wars. And which side do you think is wrong? Which side do you think the farmboys from desert planet are going to be on? Which side will be rebelling against Empire-style oppression and control, which side will destroy rebellious populations? 

"Which side, Saba Sebatyne, will produce Death Stars to 'keep the peace'? Or do they need Death Stars? You already have hundreds of Jedi. I've seen, firsthand, what a single Jedi can do if it wants to. I know which side has the big fleet. And I know which side is going to try to hop system-to-system, hoping for a chance to catch the Grand Master undefended.

"I know which side I'll be on, Saba. My goal now is to try to make that war more equal, because there is no stopping it now. I want Jedi for that small side, the Rebellion. I don't want to be fighting Luke Skywalker and Mara Jade and Jaina, Kyp and Kyle and Tesar. The Jedi need to be told, straight-out, where they are headed. If they're too ingrained in the philosophy that has poisoned them, then we've lost already; but I'd become a hunted hermit on a desert world, watching for a new hope.

"You are the first, Saba Sebatyne. Together, we would have a chance to convince others. Alone, neither of us has a chance."

He drew his blaster and threw it onto the table. "If I have failed to convince you, shoot me now and save someone the trouble. If I have succeeded, get up and start the biggest battle of your life, the biggest hunt you could embark on; a Jedi hunt. Help me find the Jedi who are left, before the Dark Jedi claim them all."

She stirred slowly, dark eyes brooding. "You have succeeded, Jagged Fel, though you did not have az far to go az you thought. But there iz still a matter between uz.

"You have established your plan for the Jedi Order, and it soundz very noble. But what will you do with the Jedi who waz aboard the Millenium Falcon?"

Jag studied her, his face curiously ambiguous; on the one hand, he was relieved by her acquiescence to his plan. But on the other, he was wondering… "You know who the Jedi is already, don't you. You won't need to find out from anyone else."

Saba met his eyes firmly. "Yez. Thiz one doez know who that Jedi iz. And before thiz one revealz to you the name of thiz Jedi, thiz one wantz to know what sort of fate she iz betraying her friend too."

Jag closed his eyes, voice pained. "It is a friend, then, someone you hold in high respect. A potential ally for us. I had hoped…but it does not matter.

"Saba, I intend to do just what I said I would. I will ruin that Jedi, the same way I will destroy the Jedi Order; by simply pointing out what already exists, and revealing it to that Jedi.

"In war, in battle, you seldom think about who you're fighting, who you have just killed. Indeed, it is not uncommon for the death of a sapient to be marked by nothing more than a 'Good shot, ' to whoever has killed him." He did not see the start that Saba gave when he spoke, for he was not in the cabin of his ship, but the cockpit of his X-Wing. "And the shooter never knows what he has just destroyed. He rarely sees the nobility that caused the attack in the first place. He doesn't experience the months of training and laughing and crying that have brought the victim to that moment. He doesn't have to…to tell the grieving parents why their son has died, and what he died for! He doesn't live with the anguish in their eyes, the tears running down their faces, even as they struggle to be brave, struggle to understand why they have lost yet another son to warfare and bloodshed. All that gunner sees is a brief, impersonal machine, a few moments of combat, and a victor; just a flash of light, in the grand scheme of things. I know; how long did I think about the coralskipper pilots I killed? I don't regret it, certainly; but once they were gone, my attention was elsewhere, and I didn't care. And I want to make that Jedi understand who was in that craft, who they have killed. I want them to know what they have done, and I want to see the pain on their faces. Call it Dark, I don't care. I just want to see it."

"Tell me, Jagged Fel. Tell me who died."

He struggled to control the flood of grief that burst out from it's hiding place, struggled to stay above the memories, to tell his story.

"His name was Devlin. He was a human, like me; a rare thing in the Chiss military. He wasn't a warrior, wasn't someone who lived for battle, like I do. He was fond of practical jokes, and was as intensely loyal to his friends as…" he cast about, searching for an illustration she could understand "…as you are with your son and your nestmates. When he was sad, he would hide it from everyone who wasn't close to him. He didn't have a lot of friends; growing up a human among the Chiss was hard. He lived for love, love of family, love of friends, love of his nation. He worked for his living, making food for others to eat. It was a good job, for a good man. He met a girl there, fell in love. They would have been married shortly after the Killik Crisis began.

"Unfortunately, the two of them were part of a House that had found a new way to get labor, cheap. In the employment cuts that followed, he lost his job; she stayed there. He found a job on another side of the planet, visiting her on weekends. They still planned to get married; they were so in love, it was comical. Both the families were excited…

"Then there was an accident at the food production facility she worked in. The other, newer, cheaper labor group got out of their containment section; and the entire staff became Joiners.

"It nearly killed poor Devlin. He came home one day, and she was gone. He found her in a Killik nest nearby, and she wasn't anything like the sweet, vibrant girl she had been. She was changed, Saba, changed terribly.

"I'll spare you the details. Devlin ended up in the EDF, defending our homes from the bugs. At Tenupe, our squadron got assigned to defend that Chiss megaweapon, which was basically just an overgrown can of slow-acting insecticide. You heard about that, right?"

Saba nodded, not trusting herself to speak. _Hunt the moment_. She had killed this man that Jag was describing, caught up in the Force…that was no excuse. She had hunted him with her turret guns; she could recall the memory with ease, thanks to her Jedi skills. She had hunted him out of the sky, then gone for a surgical kill, aiming for the cockpit rather than the craft. And now she knew her prey. Now she was hearing about him, and he was a man not so far different from the man in front of her, a man she respected, and would willingly jeapordize her life to save. He was, in fact, not so different from any being she respected; perhaps, she realized with a shudder, more worthy of her respect than others she knew.

"Yeah, it was big news for a minute or two. Every GFFA craft in the sky came after it, seemed like. I wouldn't have minded them succeeding, though, except that they were killing my squad and wingmates to do it.

"I was of chasing Zekk and Jaina. By the time I got finished with that, I headed back to my group; I got there just in time to see them die, one by one, as the Falcon hit them."

_Saba was back in the seat, whooping with excitement and sheer, savage pleasure as she blasted target after target out of the sky. She had barely noted the faraway clawcraft, then, so caught up was she in eliminating the ones before her. _

"By the time I was in range, only one survived – Devlin. We went for one run before I realized how foolish it was to try to fight Jedi – for I knew that only Jedi could have done that kind of shooting. I was about to warn Devlin off when Princess Leia hailed me."

_Leia was doing well for herself, too, accounting for several of the agile craft. Saba, though, was on fire, destroying machine after machine, until only two were left. Leia, through the Force, sensed Jag; Saba didn't recognize hers as anything but prey. While Leia talked, Saba continued to fire._

"I chose to try and talk it out rather than warn him off. But she wasn't calling to negotiate; just to give me a moment's warning before she blasted me out of the sky. A chance to eject; which is something that neither of those two 'Jedi' gave to the other pilots in my squadron. But because she _recognized_ me, because she didn't feel like killing someone who wasn't _faceless_, she gave _me_ that moment's warning."

_Saba felt a moment's worth of aggravation for Leia's hesitancy, and wished that she would just finish the mission and remove the threat – until she recalled that Leia was talking to an erstwhile friend. While Leia talked, Saba finally got a lock on the twisting, juking pilot, and fired, using the Force to guide her hands. The shot lanced out from her gun, and she whooped with delight, knowing it was good._

"I saw that bolt enter his cockpit, Saba. I watched it char his stomach, liquefy his bone and muscle and organs. I saw his eyes go dim and hazy, and he looked at me through the camlink. He looked me straight in the eye as he died, Saba, and I couldn't do a thing about it.

_Leia's joke made the Barabel laugh; her student was so funny! She did admit, though, that it had been a good bit of shooting. Han's words made her tense, and she felt alarm overshadow her appreciation of Leia's joke. Within moments, the pilots were forgotten as she hunted the bombs she had been told to destroy._

"His parents were understanding, but grief was crippling them. They have lost three children already; a fourth was almost more than they could bear, even with the other children they had. I will never forget telling them how their son had died, Saba, never! Nor will I ever forget his face. Even now it haunts me. And when that Jedi sees it too, when I have told him what Devlin was like…I will be satisfied. There is more I could tell you about his life…"

He trailed off, staring vacantly into space.

Saba sat, stricken with sorrow and anguish. She had once directly caused the deaths of thousands of her kin; this was not the same kind of sorrow, though it was similar. "Jagged…"

"Spare me sympathies, Saba. Just give me the name. I will tell them what I told you, and see what happens. That is the only revenge Devlin would want, anyway."

"Jagged Fel…I am sorry."

"Why? It's not your faul-" He finally looked at her and saw the expression in her eyes. "No." He shook his head, disbelieving. "No. It couldn't be."

"Thiz one offers her neck to you, Jagged Fel. She haz deceived you; and she iz the one you are searching for. She waz the gunner that day."

He closed his eyes, face black with anger; and sighed heavily, releasing it. When he opened his eyes again, they were once more calm, though pained. "I do not want to kill you, Saba. As I said, knowing what you have done causes more pain than I could ever inflict. And I need your help."

She kept her head bowed, half-wishing it would get chopped off. Even as she had avoided the decline of the Jedi, even as she had been so proud of her nobility, her refusal to bend to the changing ideas; she had been guilty of this. And not only this, surely, but many more such crimes, that she had never stopped to think about.

She now knew that Jagged Fel could destroy the Jedi.

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"There is something else you must know, Saba, something I planned to keep in reserve until the moment of my revenge."

She could not imagine anything that could deepen her shame further. It was as if she had killed a fellow Barabel, from her same family group, and not bothered to think about it. It seemed as cold as murdering her neighbor in the Jedi Temple, and not regretting it. What more could Jagged Fel say that could make the pain worse?

"What iz it, Jagged Fel?"

He hesitated, suddenly unsure of himself; and in the moment of vulnerability, his defenses cracked and the tears came flooding out of his eyes, streaming down his face and wetting his shirt. His body heaved as great, wracking sobs shook it, and he wept in anguish at some hidden pain.

Saba, through some aspect of the Force, knew instinctively the next question to ask, the question she _must_ ask. Painful as it might be, she must inflict it upon herself, because she deserved punishment for her crimes.

"Why is thiz pilot so important to you, Jagged? What makes thiz…" she stumbled over the name of the man she had killed "…Devlin so important to you that hiz death causez you such grief?"

Jag looked up once more, tears still soaking his face. In a voice barely audible, he whispered seven words.

"_Cem was not the only Fel shadowchild_."


	9. Chapter Nine: Plans

Chapter Nine:

By mutual agreement, they went to bed, too drained to continue their discussion. Jag's long-awaited revelation, curiously, brought him little satisfaction; only a weary acceptance, pleased that it was done. He had been waiting for years for this; but now that he had finished, he needed to find something else to do.

He would never be satisfied with a calm, peaceful, quiet life; he needed a purpose, something to fight for. He needed to strive for perfection, to strive for peace; but he knew how quickly peace and victory could fade. When the Yuuzhan Vong had surrendered, there was joy, a sense of completion; but short years later, the galaxy was caught up in yet another conflict. The intervening years hadn't been fun, either; once the heroism of the war was over, corruption and greed set in, and people casually gave up the unity they had sacrificed lives and homes and families to keep. Jag's life among the Chiss had seemed strange to him, after the time he had spent in the New Republic, and later the Galactic Alliance. The Chiss exclusionist policies seemed faintly ridiculous to him now, as did their adherence to tradition; but the corruption and decay of the Galactic Alliance had sickened him.

He had his own problems to deal with after the Killik crisis, of course. He had been caught up in the tragedy of his brother's death, even before his mind was tampered with. But things were a lot worse than he had realized.

The Jedi exemplified the problem. Once, they had sat by while their government decayed, becoming so rigid and inflexible that they did not even act to prevent it until much, much too late. Modern Jedi, had the opposite problem; rather than refuse to bend, they were doubling over backwards to change, until they espoused the very mindset that would eventually destroy all they had fought to build. Crisis to crisis, the Jedi changed; and they never noticed when they changed so much that they were no longer Jedi.

Jag himself was a latecomer to the history of the Jedi; but even from his tiny perspective, he could see the change. He could only do so much, now; but he was determined to do what he could. He had already changed things; with Saba Sebatyne on his side, forced to openly confront the corruption that she had been a part of, his task was on its way to completion.

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At breakfast – pointedly ignoring Saba's plate – Jag asked, "What do you think we should do next?"

They had both kept silent up to this point, Saba downcast, Jag moody. At his question, though, she looked up from – _Don't look, don't look_— her plate, and said, "Where are thoze who have been helping you?"

"Zeph was going to take them all home; they should be up by now. If you'd like, I could call them and see if they can come over and help us think."

"That would be wize."

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Zair's face appeared on the comm, hair tousled. He carried a plate just below the cam field, and ate steadily while they talked – or, more accurately, while Jag talked.

"Morning."

"Ghmmmphh."

"Where is everyone right now?"

A finger pointed up, indicating the higher floor.

"Raal, too?"

He nodded, stuffing a spoon full of food into his mouth.

"Where are Juun and Tarfang?"

Zair rolled his eyes. He made a blaster out of his finger and thumb, and mimed shooting his brain out.

"Oh."

Another spoon went in.

"I have something to show you guys. Can you come to my ship?"

Zair shook his head, shrugging his shoulders. He took a bite of some sort of pastry, and swallowed some blue milk.

"Zeph knows the way."

The motion ceased, and Zair made the universal gesture of acknowledgement, fist upraised, one thumb sticking out and pointing towards his earlobe.

"I'll see you in one standard hour, then."

The last thing Jag saw out of the holocam's viewer was a rapidly enlarging image of a spoon; then, blackness.

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One and a half standard hours later, two speeders pulled up. Zeph's speeder held himself, Juun, and Tarfang. The sporty blue model following it held only Raal, driving, and Zair. Jag met them out on the tarmac, in front of his ship.

In light of day, Jag's ship was a thing of beauty. The _Seldom Home_ was a _Law_-class frigate, with two swooping wings, a sleek, streamlined hull with gently rounded bubbles where crew space and extra weaponry had been added, and a polished silver surface that reflected the morning sun like a mirror. Originally meant for a crew of fifteen, with five gunners, the _Seldom Home_ had been extensively modified, first by Soontir Fel, then by his son Jagged. Soontir had found it, battle-scarred and ready for scrapping, after an engagement with some pirates out on the Outer Rim. He had salvaged it and brought it home, where he worked for the next three and a half years restoring it; then gave it to his wife as a present, to use in their frequent jaunts around Chiss space. She – and the children that followed – had loved the craft, but as the children grew older, and time got shorter, they needed it less and less, especially when Soontir had reached a position where he could request government transport for himself and his family. As wars and careers called the Fel children away from home, the _Seldom Home_ was relegated to a local spaceport, where it sat all throughout the Vong War and the long years leading up to the Killik Crisis.

After Jag's crash-landing on Tenupe, during his subsequent recovery, he had remembered the old ship and gone to check it out. It turned out to be just the project he needed to keep from losing his mind during the long convalescence.

After sitting in storage for so long, the Seldom Home had required some work; the outer hull bore scars from various minor engagements, and the drives of the ship needed some refurbishing. The interior of the ship was clean, thanks to the air scrubbers; so Jag had started working on the engines immediately, assisted by Cem and even Wyn, and soon had them running at better than normal – with the Class One hyperdrive, _Seldom Home_ had already ranked at the highest possible standard for unmodified engines. Cem and Jag had tinkered with and modified the engine until standard rankings no longer applied; he was fairly certain that it could make 0.75 now, which was _fast_. It's engines, originally capable of clocking 850 kph in-atmosphere, had been replaced with stronger repulsorlifts and sublight; Seldom Home could push 1,300 khp now, the speed of Vong-era X-Wings.

Once he had finished with the engines, he had turned his attention to the weaponry. KDY _Law_-class patrol craft came equipped with four laser cannons – two of which were turreted – and a single bow-mounted torpedo launcher. Soontir had upgraded the existing cannons to AG-1G's, but Jagged had some other ideas; he replaced the two wing cannons with the newest model of AG-2G's, the same type of cannon found in the _Millenium Falcon_, and installed two of them on each wing. The single turret guns were replaced with Taim and Bak H9 Dual Turbolasers, and he added two more torpedo launchers, one in the bow and one in the stern, for a total of three.

The shielding had been upgraded next. The _Law_-class ships were notoriously weak in this area, so Soontir had put military-grade shielding on the ship when he repaired it. Jag had modernized it, upgrading the deflector shields until they could withstand a direct turbolaser blast – though the strain would, of course, weaken them significantly.

Zeph swept an elaborate bow as he drew near, and greeted Jag. "My lord, I didst not know that thou wert a princeling of the-"

"Shut up, you. It's just a ship."

"Just a ship?" Raal had come up behind Zeph, with Zair – _my my, Zair is **very** close behind_. "She's beautiful, Jag."

Indeed she was. The curving exterior was elegant and attractive enough to belong to a wealthy individual; but she packed a serious punch. The ship was not just a star yacht, cruising from port to port – though of course, appearances _did_ keep planetary officials from taking too close of a look. Anyone with a ship that good-looking was assumed to be respectable, or at least capable of…_rewarding_…prompt and willing service.

"What's it named?" Zair asked.

Jag smiled. "_Seldom Home_."

Raal laughed, and Zair joined in. "I suppose it might be appropriate…but why?"

"It's a long story, and I'll tell you the whole thing sometime. But first, come on inside. There's someone I'd like you to—Juun, where's Tarfang?"

Juun puffed out his chest angrily. "It's good to see you, too, Jag. Why thank you, I'm doing well today; so kind of you to ask. Yes, it was a pleasant night. I-"

Zeph jerked a thumb towards Seldom Home. "He sprinted off thataway. Acted like he smelled something familiar…"

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Saba Sebatyne made quite an impression on the three PlanSec officials. After introductions were made, Tarfang was placated, and they all sat down in _Seldom Home_'s lounge for a 'Council of War,' as Zeph called it.

Jag briefly summarized his position with the Jedi, - leaving out Devlin – and then looked at each of them in turn.

"Zekk will be coming here, I'm sure of it. I need to get off-planet; fighting a member of the Jedi Order – no matter how disliked – is a bad way to start convincing Jedi to accept my reasoning. And even with Saba here, Zekk could potentially cause me a lot of trouble. He wouldn't stand a chance against her in a straight-up fight; but the Dark Side leaves you a lot of options. And he's not after her –yet.

"Saba and I need a place to start. This planet" he gestured out the window to indicate the bustling spaceport "won't hide me for very long. And there isn't much I can learn here."

Zair leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "You're saying that you don't need us anymore."

Jag hesitated, then nodded. "I'm going to be in a lot of danger over the next few months. I'm going to be hopping from planet to planet, staying one step ahead. Anyone traveling with me will not only face danger by being near, but might become a target themselves. I can't ask you to do that."

Zeph said, "What's your first order of business?"

"Strategy." Jag said, without hesitation. "I need to work out a strategy. Contact one or two Jedi that I'd trust, and ask for their help. At the same time, I'm going to be procuring supplies, getting ready; I'm going to have Jedi– no, scratch that. I'm going to have Force-users coming after me, and I need to be prepared. Saba's going to have to stay popular at the Temple for a while, feeding me info; she'll stay close, though. The other thing I need to do is get ready for a war."

The three PlanSec officials traded looks. Raal spoke. "We'll need some time to talk about this, Jag."

"I understand. Take all the time you need – I'll be leaving the planet today, but I'll give you ways to reach me."

Juun spoke up, "What about Tarfang and I? You haven't said much about the two of us, and how we fit into your plans."

"You've got the same choice. I'm not asking for your help here; though you'd be a valuable asset inside Intelligence. But I'd recommend staying out of it. You could lose a lot more than just your career."

Juun's eyes narrowed. "You're not going to get away with that, Jagged. Like it or not, Tarfang and I are involved, now. We'll talk about it, too. You'll have our decision before you leave."

"So be it." Jag looked around the table at the only six people in the galaxy that were privy to his plan. "I need a few hours to make some comm calls. Saba, you've already made your decision; I'd appreciate it if you spend the time thinking through what we've discussed. Strategies, thoughts, corrections, ways to implement; whatever you can come up with to help is welcome. Tarfang, Juun, Zeph, Raal, Zair; do whatever. You've all said you'd think on it, but whatever you decide, I won't be able to think more highly of you than I already do, and certainly no lower." He stood, and the others did the same. "If you'll excuse me, then, I'm going to go to the cockpit. You have my comm frequency if you need to call me. Lets meet back here in…four standard hours. Zeph, bring some food, will you?"

Raal spoke swiftly. "Zair and I will handle it."

Zeph glared at her in mock anger. "What, you don't think I can make good culinary decisions?"

"Roast gornt is by no means culinary. And no, I don't think you can."

They exited the Seldom Home, exchanging playful banter; but it was undercut by a tension. Their jokes were meant to disguise an underlying seriousness, though Jag could see right through it.

Saba lingered behind, eyes on Jag. "Thiz one thinkz that their decisionz will be hard."

"Aye." Jag did not look away from the five figures getting into their speeders. "And I think I already know who will choose to stay, and who will go."

"Thiz one agreez. But they must come to the decisionz themselvez."

"What are you going to do?"

"Thiz one must meditate." He looked at her then, and saw that her eyes were filled with concern. "There iz something thiz one must decide on, something that requirez much thought." She gave a short, sissing laugh. "Thiz one will share her decisionz with you when she returnz."

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Jag spent the next three standard hours on his comm, making calls. First on the list was his parents; and it was purely personal. He wasn't going to ask their help in this; but he needed to make contact with them. After his mind was tampered with, they had had no news of him; he knew what that would have done to his parents, who had lost so many children. They would endure it stoically, but the fear would exist.

He got his sister Wyn. After exclamations of delight mingled with reproving admonishments, she called their mother into the room. The two were soon joined by Soontir, and a call was put in to Cem, who joined the transmission from a separate location. For the first time in months – years? – every surviving member of the Fel family was able to see the others. After explaining what had interrupted his journey to the Jedi Temple, Jag related to them a version of his story, leaving out all names. He kept his plans to himself; but he did relate everything about Devlin, from the pain he had undergone, to his discovery of the killer. Surprisingly, his parents accepted the news with equanimity; Soontir had long ago realized that there were good people on both sides of any conflict, when he and Wedge Antilles were on opposing sides..

After he signed off, he entered a familiar code. Minutes later, an unsmiling blue face appeared, red eyes glowing, uniform perfect. The military set of Shawnkyr's face collapsed when she saw Jag, and the relief in her voice was clear. He told her a highly condensed version of his adventures, and then told her that he was about to undertake a mission, the scope of which was scarcely comprehendible. He asked her to place him in contact with the current leader of the Empire of the Hand: which was probably his father, but he wasn't sure. She promised to see what she could do. When he did contact them, he would set in motion the long-awaited fulfillment of the Hand's purpose…and the battle would begin in earnest.

Through his ship's interface, he accessed his private accounts. He had never revealed, even to Jaina, the extent of his family's fortune; it was nothing more than a tool, to him. He cared little for riches or wealth; as long as he had enough to satisfy his simple needs, he was content. But there were times when what he desired was expensive; and now was one of them. He had enough in there to finance everything he could need in this enterprise, for the next seven decades. He laughed softly; his investments had grown hugely after the Swarm War, when he had lost interest. Perhaps they had done so naturally; perhaps Cem, who could hack into just about anything, had helped it along with some shrewd management.

Via the HoloNet, Jag made reservations at a spaceport seven parsecs away, under a false name. His ship's name was uncompromised, so he left that the way it was; but he went through all the other information with a meticulous attention to detail, entering the information for one of his fake transponders.

His tasks completed, he looked at his chrono and discovered that he had just over an hour left to himself, before the others arrived. He wandered out into the lounge, which was empty; Saba must have left some time before. Taking a sheet of flimsy, he sat down and began to compile a shopping list for the upcoming war.

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Author's Note: At this point, the story splits. The next update will tie the story in to canon as it stands now, with _Legacy of the Force: Bloodlines_ being the last released book in the series. Chapter Ten will be given twice: one version will finish the story, and retcon it into the time period between _The Swarm War_ and _Betrayal_. The other will pick up here, at the end of Chapter Nine, and continue beyond into Alternate Universe.


	10. Chapter Ten: Realisations

Chapter Ten: Realizationz

For April, Ashley, and Jen.

After a long time away, I've finally written the conclusion to this story…sort of. Star Wars being Star Wars, the story never ends, and the wars continue. But for me, this story is almost over…another chapter (mostly finished) will conclude this for me. My thanks to everyone who left feedback; you're the sole reason that this story is continued. After months on the shelf, I saw the feedbacks asking me to finish it…so I have. Enjoy this chapter, second to the last.

Chapter Ten: Realizationz.

…_A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away…_

The richly decorated interior of Jag's ship was quiet, soothing. In the lounge, over in the area Soontir had converted into a study section, dark walls and muted colors served to give the space a peaceful, hushed atmosphere. Jag sat hunched over a wooden table, scribbling notes on a sheet of flimsy. Now and again, he would sit back into the soft, comfortable chair, thoughtfully tapping his teeth with the stylus, only to lean forward again and continue writing. His brow was furrowed with concentration, and his eyes were continually moving up and down the paper, scanning, considering, evaluating.

Heavy footsteps sounded in the corridor outside. Jag looked up as the door opened, and Saba Sebatyne, Jedi Master, walked in, tail swishing behind her, dark eyes troubled. She had excused herself earlier, claiming a need to meditate and relax; it seemed to have done little good. She was tense, jumpy; her tongue was flicking back and forth between her pebbly lips, and her hands were clenched.

As she approached, Jag put down the flimsy. Concern emanated from his voice as he asked, "Saba? What's wrong?"

Her response was short and abrupt. "Thiz one wishez to take a walk, Jagged Fel."

"A walk?" Jag was confused. "Why tell me? If you want to go walk, then by all means, go ahead and-"

Saba, with a visible effort, unclenched her fists. "Thiz one waz not clear; she apologizez. Thiz one wishez to take a walk with you, Jagged Fel."

Puzzled, Jag rose, dropping the stylus on the table as he passed it. Suppressing his instinct to touch her on the arm, he gestured out the door towards the aft sections of the ship, saying, "There's a park nearby. It'd be nice to get some fresh air, after sitting in here for so long."

He led the way out of the ship, stopping to close up the hatch and activate the custom security systems onboard _Seldom Home_. As he tapped on the keypad, he asked, "Will we be back before the others are?"

She sissed softly. "Yez. Thiz one iz sure we will arrive back here before any otherz."

Something in her tone made Jag uneasy; but he wasn't sure what, exactly.

--

The day was beautiful, clear and crisp; the sun shone brightly on the pair as they walked side-by side out of the spaceport and towards the nearby lake, which the rulers of this planet had thoughtfully preserved, creating a pleasant area, free of commercial buildings and clutter. Smooth, purple grass, cut in neat, orderly rows blanketed expanses of open area, dotted by flowering trees and discreet benches. The lake – slightly green and calm -- was bisected by the reflection of the sun, a glowing streak of light that could probably damage the human retina if he looked at it for too long. He made the mistake of looking too closely at it; for the next three minutes, his eyesight was obstructed by an afterimage that bore a striking resemblance to a lit lightsaber, held blade-down.

The silence stretched unbroken, though Jag quickly ascertained that something was very, very wrong. The longer they walked, the more pronounced his sense of unease became. The Jedi at his side did not walk so much as stalk; even the small groups of overfed animals that gamboled through were not enough of an attraction to break her sense of somber thought.

He sat at a duracrete bench, flanked by two trees. The branches subtly rearranged themselves to shade him from the warm sun; they must have been modified trees, likely with a link to a pressure switch embedded in the bench.

Saba refused to sit, pacing back and forth in front of him. The minute stretched into two, then three. Near the five-minute mark, she turned to him and faced him full on, tongue flickering to sample the air.

When she spoke, her dry, raspy voice was clear and strong. "Thiz one haz a doubt, Jagged Fel."

"Do you." Jag's response was not a question; it was a request for more information, delivered in a flat, quiet monotone.

"Yez." Saba resumed pacing, speaking as she stomped back and forth, digging up small clods of earth with her claws. "Thiz one doez not doubt that Jacen Solo is a shenbit posing az a nerf. Nor doez she doubt your tale about Zekk. Nor doez she doubt that the Jedi are being absorbed into their own Dark Nezt without noticing."

The analogy seemed remarkably apt to Jag. Suddenly, the entire Dark Nest, the bugs, and the Joiners bore an unsettling parallel to the Jedi and their slide into Darkness. Such philosophical considerations, however, were for another time. He had a bigger problem, right now – making sure his only Jedi ally was truly on his side.

"In that case, what do you doubt, Saba?"

"You." She met his gaze, unwavering. "Thiz one doubtz you."

This surprised Jag, to say the least; but he managed to keep any indication of offense from his tone. "Explain that, please."

He felt an odd pressure at his back and buttocks, and glanced down. He was extremely surprised to find himself floating in the air, several centimeters above the bench and rising. He had been levitated before, by Jaina, during some of their mock battles and playful teasing, and at other times as well; but this was different. Very different. The bench, a meter below him, looked extremely solid and appealing. His upward motion stopped, and he hung, unmoving, in the air. He looked back at Saba, who was standing in front of him, arm outstretched, and started to ask what she was doing; but an invisible hand seized his throat, and he found himself unable to breathe. His chest constricted, and the stored oxygen was forced from his lungs. Panicked, he instinctively tried to grasp his throat, but could not move his arms or hands. All feeling in his arms and legs was lost. Something was blocking his airway, blocking the entry of fresh air yet somehow allowing the air in his body to leave. Spots appeared before his eyes, and the world blurred.

Air, sweet air, poured into his throat. He coughed and gasped, greedily sucking in as much as his lungs would hold, unable to think or feel anything but the need to fill his lungs. The bands around his chest loosened, and he could suddenly feel his extremities; but he was too weak to do anything. The cushion of air that he had been floating on disappeared, and he fell a meter, thankfully landing on the soft grass instead of the concrete bench. He lay there for a moment, wheezing; then opened his eyes to see a scaly hand outthrust, with Saba behind it. It looked like she was offering to pull him up onto his feet.

Instead of grasping the hand, he recoiled, scrambling backwards, until he ran up against the permacrete bench that he had been seated on just a few moments earlier. Unable to go any further, due to his weakened body, he collapsed against it. Aghast, he raised a trembling finger, pointing at the Barabel before him and croaked through a raw and burning throat, "You…you're on Jacen's side! You're a Dark Je-"

He hadn't thought that Barabels could look fiercer than nature had made them. He had been wrong. Fury and rage twisted Saba's face, and her mouth opened in a snarl, cutting off his word partway out of his mouth. Huge, sharp teeth protruded from her open jaw, and she bounded towards him, lightsaber flying off of her simple belt and slapping into her hand, where it lighted with a loud _snap-hiss_. She swung the blade towards his neck even as he tried to melt back into the bench.

The glowing blade halted its descent a micron from his throat, so close that he could feel the heat from it. He smelled the stubble on his neck burning, and realized that he might not need to shave anymore. His face was pale, and his body was rigid.

Shaking with anger, Saba rasped, "Never say that. Never! Thiz one haz _**NOT**_ fallen to the Dark, and she will never serve it!"

Still holding his neck still, Jag sputtered, "Then….how…_why_?"

She deactivated the lightsaber and snapped her jaw shut, but remained looming over him. "There were three reasonz." She tapped the hilt of her lightsaber against her skull as she counted them off.

"One: Thiz one had reason and right to kill you juzt then. By your own admission, you have – unprovoked – assaulted a member of thiz one'z Order. All he did was greet you, and mention a name, and you attacked him. Rather than publicly humiliate and judge you, he deemed you a threat, and removed you – humanitarianly. He did not kill you, he merely tampered with your mind so that you would no longer attack him, and took necessary precautionz to prevent you from returning.

"You have told thiz one that you plan to destroy the Jedi. You seek to confuze and subvert memberz of the Order, drawing Jedi away from the Council and the authority of the Grand Master. Thiz one assumes you do not need to be told the punishment for that."

_Well, that's _one_ way of saying it, sure._ "But Zekk was in league with Jacen! He's been karking about with Jaina's mind for-"

"Two:" Saba said, louder, drowning out his protests, "To prove to you how helplesz you are. You are a great warrior, Jagged Fel; but you cannot anticipate everything, nor can you defend against everything. The Force iz something that you cannot hope to fight by yourself. You saw how easily thiz one overcame you; if she had wished, you would be dead right now. With the enemiez you have already made, it iz a wonder that you are still alive. If you defy them, and work against them, thiz one iz sure that you will not remain alive much longer. You can hide, to be sure. I do not doubt that there are ysalamiri left. And the galaxy iz a big place. But one mistake putz you at a disadvantage, and renderz you helplesz. And the next time, you will not face one who will relent."

The lesson was certainly true, but Jag still didn't think it was necessary for him to learn it _that_ way.

"Three," Saba continued, "to teach you a simple fact. Thiz one used the Dark Side of the Force to do that. Prove to thiz one that it waz wrong for her to do so."

He looked at her, confused. "Prove…what do you mean? Of course it was wrong! Fierfek, you just kriffing Force-choked me! That's the Dark Side!"

"The Dark Side? What is that?"

"You just told me that you used it. Don't you know?"

Her tone was sarcastic, mocking. "Enlighten thiz one."

"The Dark Side is everything evil! It's everything in the galaxy that's wrong, it's the boogeyman used to frighten children. It's the danger that every Force-user must face, it's something that can corrupt and seduce anyone, turning good into evil. It's…" He stopped, searching for words to express what he was trying to communicate, and finding none. "It's…well, you're the Jedi. You tell me."

"Very well: it iz an ancient mistake. There iz no dark side. There iz only intention. Surely, you do not believe that when a Jedi getz angry, a mysteriouz entity siesez control of hiz body and never letz go?"

"Of course not; but that doesn't change my point. Look at history! Sith existed, as did Dark Jedi…and the Jedi have a Grand Master right now that can testify to that!"

"And what iz wrong with the Sith? What iz wrong with a Dark Jedi?"

"What's wrong with them? They're evil!"

She cocked her head and regarded him curiously. "Evil is a relative term, Jagged Fel. Surely you have heard thiz. The definition of evil has changed; there iz no darknesz, except the darknesz that iz in you. There iz no Dark Side: life'z purpose iz to seek out whatever makez you the happiest. Not acting on your desirez iz evil. Iz that not true?"

"Bloody right it's not true!"

"Iz that so? Why?"

He had a sudden flash of insight, and felt slightly foolish for not realizing it before. Saba wasn't expressing what she believed; she was testing him somehow. He knew that she believed in the existence of the Dark Side, and that she didn't subscribe to Jacen's beliefs. He wished that he could figure out _how_ she was testing him, though.

"Because if you believe that, then any evil, any atrocity, can be justified! 'Oh, Palpatine was just following his desires.' Or maybe, 'oh, I don't like Corellians, I'm going to kill them all. They're inferior, anyways.' You follow that philosophy, you end up with a savage herd of animals, fighting each other tooth and nail to survive."

"You are correct in thiz." Saba smiled, and Jag had the momentary, insane impression that he was a Barabel 'hatchling' being congratulated on a successful hunt by an instructor. "But I ask that you go even deeper than that. You have described the probable results; describe to me the cause."

"The cause. The cause. Hang on a minute."

"What iz evil?" Saba prompted. "What makez any action wrong? What overall rule definez it, what separatez the good from the bad?"

"Evil is…oh, kriff it all. You win; now tell me the answer."

She bared her teeth. "If I have won, then there iz only one answer."

Before he could blink, the bands constricted around his chest again, and his throat stopped up as effectively as if she had vacuum-welded it. This time, instead of floating about in the air, he lay pinned on the ground, unable to move. He noticed this in an abstracted, casual sort of way, but soon lost interest. More pressing concerns weighed on his mind; oxygen, something that he normally wasn't terribly aware of, was suddenly the only focus of his existence. The choke went on for longer than the previous; he had a sudden, hilarious thought that it was never going to end, right before he passed out.

--

Several million volts of electricity surged through his body – at least, that was what it felt like – and he jolted upright, hair standing on end, his whole body tingling. Rubbing his throat, he glared at Saba, who was withdrawing her finger from his forehead. He'd seen Jedi wake unconscious people before by gently placing a hand on their brow: apparently, Barabels were a little more unrefined. "If you're going to torture me, shouldn't we go someplace more private?"

"Thiz iz not torture, Jagged Fel. Thiz one iz merely forcing you to learn realistically. Abstractionz are one thing; wisdom gained through experience iz another."

"So you're teaching me by Force-choking me when I get it wrong, is that it?"

"Yez."

"Teaching me what?!"

"What iz the Dark Side? What iz evil? What universal rule separatez good from bad?"

"Stang! You've got to be joking…" he hurriedly changed direction when he saw her hand raise. He'd never felt quite as helpless as this before. "All right, all right. Give me a moment to think, okay?" He stopped, collecting his thoughts. "Evil is doing something that violates your conscience, your concept of right and wrong. That's what evil is."

Saba shook her massive head slowly. "Congratulationz, Jagged Fel. You have just defeated yourself. By that argument, you have no groundz to discredit Jacen Solo, and you are an idiot. Jacen losez no sleep at night because of his actionz; nor did Palpatine, or Shimrra, or Raynar Thul. If thiz iz your argument, you should go home now."

She paused, then continued, "I will demonstrate. Thiz one believez that it iz right for her to walk up to Cal Omaz and slam her lightsaber into hiz stomach, taking over the galaxy for herself. And you juzt told her that thiz one would be right; after all, thiz one thinkz she iz right, so that meanz she _iz_ right! Thank you, Jag."

"No I didn't, I said…"

"What you _said_ waz, 'evil iz something that violatez your concept of right and wrong.' Thiz one doez not think that she would be wrong; so she iz not. Correct?"

"No! I think that would be evil, very evil indeed!"

"So _you _are the one who definez good and what is evil? By that argument, you believe that anyone in the galaxy who doez not line up with you view is evil…what givez you that right? Iz it _your_ galaxy? You are a monster, Jagged Fel; Thiz one should kill you right now, before your planz take effect and you start killing people."

"No, that's not what I meant." Jag put a hand to his forehead, trying to steady his thoughts. "You're twisting my words around, making them mean something they don't."

"No, thiz one iz not. Thiz one haz simply followed your argument through to itz logical conclusion. My anticipated assassination haz been justified."

"It's _wrong_!"

"No, you are wrong. Jacen iz the one who haz it right. People are dangerouz, Jag. They have such strange ideaz, cause such problemz; they need to be controlled. A wise ruler over the whole galaxy could stop all those problemz."

He bared his teeth, and growled, "Jacen Solo is a threat to the entire galaxy. He's corrupting and subverting good men and women, feeding them lies."

"Iz he? And you know better, are not deceived?"

"Yes!"

She sighed. "You claim to have the truth, then; but you are doing a poor job of presenting it, Jagged. If you cannot convince thiz one, who already agreez with you; how will you out-argue Jacen?"

He dared to sit up again, slowly, using the bench as a support. "It's not just that, it's also…it's also going against the established rules of society, too. Evil is something that everyone else considers wrong, as well as something that your own conscience tells you is wrong."

"That doez not make sense, either. The Jedi Purge waz sanctioned by civilization. So waz the Peace Brigade. The entire Yuuzhan Vong race supported the torture and murder of Jedi, the enslavement or destruction of peaceful worldz."

"But they were the invaders; this is _our_ galaxy."

"According to the established rulez of their society, it belonged to them."

His brain was so muddled, it would take a month for all his neurons to find their proper paths again. He couldn't be any more confused if he'd been shot between the eyeballs with a planet-sized stunblast.

It took slightly less than a month. Slowly, but picking up speed as he went along, he said, "There must be something big, something powerful, something that is over everything. Something that is absolutely infallible, absolutely correct. Something higher that sets the standard for everything, everywhere."

She regarded him with amusement, but spoke encouragingly. "Yez, Jagged? Go on. What do you know of that iz universal, above reproach?"

Revelation burst into his brain, and he understood what she was saying. "The Force?"

"That iz what thiz one concludes, yez. I believe that the Light Side of the Force iz the ultimate standard for good in this galaxy; and the Dark Side iz everything opposed to it."

"But…how do you know what the Light Side of the Force is? How do you know what it wants? How do you know how to follow it?"

"That iz why I doubt, Jagged Fel. That iz the problem. Thiz one doez not know any answer to those questions. Thiz one haz seen no revelation from the Light to tell uz what iz good or what iz evil. There iz nothing in thiz galaxy that tellz uz the standard; yet that seemz impossible. Perhapz you know of one such manual?"

"No."

"You understand your dilemma, then?"

"Yes. But if there is no revealed standard, how will they—well stang, how will _anyone_ find the answer?"

"Your earlier argumentz had some truth in them. In every being iz built a sense of right and wrong. Some call it a conscience. Some call it something else; it doez not matter. It iz not infallible; it can be corrupted, ignored, changed. That iz why there iz no way to prove the existence of evil."

"So what you're saying is, I can't show them any rules, and each Jedi ultimately has to make the decision themselves."

"Yez: but only because there iz no given standard. You cannot convince them that Jacen Solo'z teachingz are evil; but Jacen himself will show them that, someday. Already, Jedi are doubting him; some still trust, but otherz question. Soon enough, Jacen will expose himself. Soon enough, he will be seen for what he iz. You have said that it will destroy the Jedi; you are right. But from the ashez will rise a new type of Jedi, wiser, better. Thiz one _believez_ , Jagged. Thiz one believez that good will ultimately triumph over evil. The Jedi need to find the difference between the two; then the war can start in earnest. When they see the truth, they will recognize it for what it iz; but they have not, yet, and thuz you can do no good."

"But not all the Jedi will choose to come to the Light."

"Please, Jagged Fel; explain that phrase."

It felt strange, having to define things that he'd never thought about. "'Come to the Light' means…choose to seek good. They can't just say they're going to remain in the gray areas…they have to actively strive to find Light. That's what the problem was; they spent so much time trying to figure out how close to Dark they could get without their eyeballs turning yellow."

"Soundz good to thiz one. The decisionz – to turn to the Light, that iz – must not be left to a debate, or an argument, or a discussion; that iz how lawyerz work." She might as well have been talking of eating a vegetable, from the distaste in her tone. "Thiz must be a matter of the heart, not of the head."

"So even if you're right, and the Jedi can't be reasoned into the light, you know me. I won't be able to just sit around. And what about Zair? What about Tarfang and Juun? What about Zeph, Kar, and Raal? Shawnkyr knows I need a favor; she doesn't know what, but I've contacted the Empire of the Hand and asked for an interview. How am I to explain that? They all know about all of this."

"Thiz one can handle all of that, Jagged Fel. That iz partially why thiz one went out to meditate thiz morning."

Jag suddenly recalled his earlier feeling of unease. It resurfaced in his stomach, surging up his throat and trying to block his voicebox. "What have you done, Saba?"

"Whether you agreed or not, thiz one must have acted." She exhaled loudly, tongue fluttering up and down. "Thiz one haz called Kyp Durron to help her."

The implications of that statement hit him like a punch in the stomach. Kyp's talent wasn't diplomacy, or logic. It wasn't in covert operations, either – Kyp's usual method of facing darkness was to blow something up. Violently – but he had one particularly useful skill, ready-made to keep things secret…

"This doesn't feel right."

"Thiz one agreez. But it iz necessary."

"Necessary? Saba, is it just me, or does that remind you of someone?"

"There iz a bit of Jacen in all of uz, Jagged Fel. The difference liez in what we do with him."

He brushed his hair from his forehead, squinting irritably at the sun. "I still don't like it, Saba."

"What other option do you see?"

"None," he admitted. "Where is Kyp?"

She hesitated, closing her eyes. "He iz a few kilometerz away from uz, south."

"He's on-planet? What is he doing?"

She opened her eyes, looking him straight-on. "He haz left the Phenir house already. He haz intercepted Juun and Tarfang, and iz almost finished with them."

"Finished with them!?" He had hoped to speak to Kyp before that started, hoped to talk to the five people who had helped him. He had wanted to ask their permission, or _something_…

"Finished changing their memories, Jagged Fel. They will never remember meeting you here."

Revulsion clamped his stomach, and he scrambled to his feet, heading towards the lake. Saba trotted along behind him, humming softly to herself.

"Thiz one apologizez, Jag. She did not mean to cause you pain; she waz only-"

He slowed, changed directions. Softly, he completed the sentence she had left unfinished: "Doing what was necessary." He sighed, resigned. "You're right, Saba. It is necessary."

They walked back to his ship in silence.

--

Kyp was standing at the doorway when they got to _Seldom Home_. He was dressed in his usual clothes – a dark outfit that pretty much screamed "_Jedi"_ to anyone who was looking. If it wasn't for the wrinkles, he could have been a fashion model posing as a Jedi; as it was, there were several women quietly eyeing him from other ships in the docking bay. There was a late-model black speeder parked next to him, a sporty model that looked like it could blow his hair off if he opened up the throttle. That hair, unsurprisingly, was slightly mussed up and longer than Jag had ever seen it; but before Jag could comment, Kyp spoke.

"You need a haircut."

Slightly disoriented by hearing his planned words aimed back at him before he could speak, Jag said, "How many years have you been waiting to say that to someone?"

"Last time I saw Chewbacca."

"I never met him, unfortunately."

"Think the Wookiee version of Han Solo, and you've got it about right."

"I've seen holos."

They were both sizing each other up; the banter meant nothing. Saba stood unobtrusively – well, unobtrusively for a Barabel – off to the side, waiting for them to make up their minds about each other at this, their first meeting after fighting on opposing sides.

The two humans had known each other for a long time. Upon first meeting, they had hated each other. At their second meeting, things remained the same. The pattern continued unchanged up until the defense of Borleias, during some of what Jag still considered the best moments of the war, despite the battles and suffering. On that planet, and in space above it, they had developed a respect for each other, a respect that – as they simultaneously relaxed and greeted each other properly – apparently still continued.

The three of them wandered the city for the next hour and a half, talking about their lives, updating each other on what had taken place over the past few years. Both sides of the Killik Conflict were shared; events in the GA were related in great detail; and the dichotomy of good and evil was debated, stridently.

Kyp had come to many of the same conclusions Saba had; but his perspective, surprisingly, was rooted more to the events of history than in the present. As they neared the lake that Jag and Saba had been at only a short time before, Kyp concluded, "For millennia, the Jedi followed the Light; but what were they really following? They had made up this Code, one that avoided certain emotions – the emotions that they had identified as ones that could lead an individual to commit 'evil' acts. I won't go back into the definition of evil now, but you know what I'm talking about.

"The problem was, it was a bunch of rules, and they had the same problem that all rules have: there's always a way around them, or a reason to ignore them. As a matter of fact, any system that relies on law to keep people moral is doomed to failure. Look at the Senate. Anyway, my point is that people will find a way around rules, or just break them, if the rule is just a rule. It's only when there's a _**reason**_ to follow the rules that people want to obey them; and if you looked hard enough, there wasn't one.

"So that's why the Jedi were so…dead…when the Sith resurfaced. To the Jedi of the day, it was just a bunch of rules, with no meaning or truth behind it. It was some old folks' idea of how best to follow the Light Side; but it just came from those people. The Light had nuthin' to do with making those rules."

"So what's the answer, then?"

Kyp barked a laugh. "Utopia. Perfect people who _want_ to follow the rules. Either that, or a reason to live in a way that honors whatever's behind the rules…the first is pretty much impossible to find, and the second is pretty darn tricky too."

"So…there is no answer?"

"Basically, yeah."

"That's impossible, Kyp."

"Thiz one agreez."

"I know it's impossible, but look at it! That's the way it is!"

"There must be something."

"Yeah, well if there is, I haven't been able to find it, and neither have you, Saba."

"That iz true."

"Hold on a second. If there's no overriding rule, no definition of good or evil; then what's the point? Why not take over the galaxy or something? Why fight Jacen?"

"There _iz_ an overriding rule, an absolute standard. We juzt cannot find it."

"If there is such a thing, why wouldn't it reveal itself?"

"I don't know."

"Neither doez thiz one."

"I do know one thing, though."

"Well great, Kyp, that's a relief. Enlighten us."

"We've still got to do the best we can. We know generally what is good and what is evil; so we do what we know is right, until we find the standard. Then we follow it."

"It's got to be out there somewhere."

"Perhapz we have already seen it, and missed it."

Silence reigned as each thought about Saba's point; then Kyp brightened visibly, and smiled. "Why Master Sebatyne, you sound downright gloomy. Here, this will cheer you up."

Saba let out a startled yelp as Kyp's Force-push sent her flying into the lake. She emerged, spluttering, and set after Kyp with a grim determination that contrasted sharply with Kyp's laughing enthusiasm.

Taking in the ridiculous scene made Jag laugh until his sides ached. The sight of the fierce Barabel chasing after Kyp, spraying water everywhere, was something he had never seen before from the usually focused Jedi; and Kyp's antics only served to worsen the laugh as he Force-hopped from place to place, jumping in circles around the Barabel. Round and round they chased each other, Kyp bouncing like a demented nerf, Saba exuding the grim determination of a krayt dragon. After several long, achingly funny moments of their odd dance, Saba anticipated one of Kyp's hops and met him there with a powerful swipe of her tail. The male Jedi was sent end-over-end into the lake.

Jag watched from his bench as Saba offered a hand to Kyp, helping him climb out: the dripping Master, still grinning like a demented nerf, grasped Saba's hand firmly and flung himself right back into the water, dragging her along after him.

Laughing again, savoring the intentional light moment, Jag was grateful to Kyp for purposefully breaking up the seriousness of their conversation with some much-needed levity. He closed his eyes, savoring the warmth that was spreading throughout his entire being, enjoying the sun and the beautiful day.

He opened his eyes in time to see a man stop in front of him, smiling. The stranger grinned in a friendly, affable way, and said, "H'it does me good to see people happy, it does. Lookit the two of 'em, playing like that. When's the last time you saw an adult playing, eh?"

Jag thought of his father and the Chiss. "A long, long time."

"Yessir, indeedy. You three was so serious back in the spaceport, all hard looks and glum expressions; it's powerful nice to see two of ye havin' fun."

Jag's instincts reacted before his mind. Before he quite realized what was wrong with that statement, his foot lashed out, striking for the man's groin. This man had been watching them in the spaceport; in a private docking bay, with nobody around. Jag twisted sideways in his seat, dropping his shoulder to the bench seat…and just in time, too. A vibrosaw, concealed in the man's sleeve, whistled through the air where his head had been. If he hadn't moved, it would have taken his head off.

His attacker danced back out of range, laughing merrily. "See, a bit of exercise does ye good. Keeps ye limber, that's what I say. If you're not enjoying life, what's the point of living it, eh? That's one of the reasons I do this sort of thing."

Mind trying to work it out, Jag rolled off the bench, landing in a crouch. He darted a quick glance towards the lake, but Saba and Kyp were still unaware of what was happening.

"Yep, I see all these people busy lyin' and deceivin', and then they get caught in it. So someone puts a contract out on 'em, y'see? That's when me and the boys earn our spiceloaf, if'n ya know what I'm sayin'." The saw, with it's long, swordlike blade buzzing, swiped out at Jag's head again, then changed direction and cut at his shoulder. He dodged sideways, and the saw cut a shallow slice in his arm; nothing too serious. "Once that's happened, these poor folks is miserable, see? They all think the worst, and spend all sorts of time wondering who will come after 'em. They imagine all the ways thet it might happen, and all the ways they kin get away; but living like that ain't much fun, let me tell ye. So my line o' work is almost like a charity, see?"

At the next swipe, Jag rolled sideways, diving to the ground. When he came up on his feet again, he had a vibroblade in each hand, and he was cursing himself for leaving his blaster behind.

"'Course, if'n I'd known that there wuz a bunch'o Jedi around, I might not ha' done it, even for an old acquaintance. But we kin improvise."

Another quick glance at the Jedi revealed that they were just becoming aware of his plight. Lightsabers lit, they were rushing out of the water, white drops of liquid spraying away from their churning feet, puffs of steam arising where the lightsaber tips brushed the waves. For no reason at all, as far as Jag could see, they halted their charge, turned in unison, and snapped their lightsabers up in identical guard positions. Back to back, they stood perfectly immobile; then blasterfire lanced out from the shore, from at least half a dozen sources, and they began to block shots. Jag was on his own for another few minutes.

"See? Thet's just stage one. Once they've got the rhythm, the lads'll swap over. You might still be alive to see it." He stomp-feinted, and laughed merrily when Jag slashed at him, missing. "Gotcha! Fooled ye, din't I? Wal, no harm done. Where wuz I? Oh yes, an old acquaintance. He wuz on his way t' see ya personally, but he got sidetracked. He said some pretty lil' Jedi gal needed some help someplace on t'other side of the galaxy. Wanted to come see ye hisself, in person, but I reckon he and this gal are kinda…close, if'n ye ketch my drift."

Some part of Jag's mind exploded into white-hot anger, raging hot and screaming – but the battle portion of his mind remained under strict control, analyzing, thinking, planning, reacting. He would deal with anger later. "Zekk." He spat out the name, imbuing the word with every ounce of hate in his body, layering it with frustration and anger and rage, wrapping it with a terrible promise of revenge. The finished project would have made a Hutt blanch.

This fellow kept his reaction under control, but Jag could see the reaction in the minute shifts in his posture, the slight tightening of his eyes. He'd just realized that he was facing a very, very dangerous man. Jag took some comfort from that. "Yep. He wanted ye to know the name, 'fore ye died…if I couldn't take ye by surprise, 'course. Person'lly, I think it's a waste o' time; once you're dead, you're dead, right? Whatza difference?"

The sound of blasterfire changed slightly, and Jag's mind recognized it immediately. Blaster bolts were worse than useless against Jedi...but a stun bolt was a quick, cheap alternative, and it actually worked sometimes. Some models worked better than others; but regardless, he couldn't count on Saba and Kyp for help. This was his fight to finish. He smiled inwardly, tightening his grip. He was Corellian. He was a Fel. He didn't need any help at all to finish a fight.

"The difference? 'It matters not whether you live or die, but that you do so with honor'." The quote was one that Jag had always loved. He wasn't sure of its origins, but it perfectly summed up both the Chiss attitude toward life and his own inner strength.

"Wal, that's a right nice sentiment, that is. I might use that someday…d'ya mind if I-"

Jag charged.

--

A vibrosaw, while wicked at medium to close range, was not the ideal weapon for defending oneself against an extremely close opponent who possesses a vibroblade. The primary martial function of a vibrosaw was to keep that opponent at arms length, where you can hack him up at your leisure.

However, if that opponent catches you off guard and gets in close, your longer weapon is a disadvantage. It is possible to ward off a single vibroblade, under favorable conditions; but an opponent wielding two, fiercely determined, and inches away from your chest, is something to be avoided.

Barlo Krax, bounty hunter, was about to learn this the hard way.

--

Jag was fighting for his life, and he knew it. His strange opponent undoubtedly had a confederate nearby, sneaking up while Jag was 'distracted' by the chatter. It was a decent plan, of course…had this bounty hunter encountered Jagged Fel twenty-five years ago, when Jag wasn't even a teenager, it might even have worked. Jag calculated that he had two strikes before his enemy dropped the 'saw and went for another weapon; and he made the most of them.

His first strike, a vicious double slash, cut deep furrows across his enemies' chest. The strike left him with his arms spread out wide to each side, with no time to retract and stab for center mass, so he reversed his grip on the two weapons and jammed the tip of each blade into the respective shoulders of his enemy.

Barlo roared in pain as the insane Corellian slashed his chest. He knew immediately that the gashes in his chest were deep; while he could probably survive them, he wasn't likely to survive much longer with his opponent in that close. He was right; even as he dropped the too-long vibrosaw to free up his hands, searing bolts of fire shot through both his arms and his shoulders exploded in white-hot pain. Desperately, he brought his knee up, trying to incapacitate Jagged Fel; but a deft shift of the younger man's body caught the blow on the hip, which probably hurt the man, but not nearly as much as Barlo had hoped.

Noises came from behind Jag as soon as he caught his enemy's blow. That would be the ally, come to rescue his boss. Barlo was severely hurt, but still very dangerous; Jag couldn't afford to turn his back on him.

He couldn't exactly ignore the onrushing enemy, either; so he did the next best thing.

His right toe hooked inside Barlo's right leg, and he pivoted, grabbing hold of the bounty hunter's collar and pulling him around. Using that leverage, he yanked the man around so that he was between Jag and whatever he faced. That unseen menace turned out to be a fearsome-looking Trandoshan, blaster outstretched, fangs bared. Without blinking, Jag drew the bounty hunter's blaster from his belt and fired at the same moment that a bolt lanced out from the Trandoshan's weapon. Jag's bolt caught the onrushing bounty hunter squarely in the face, dropping him to the ground even as the bounty hunter Jag held as a shield jolted from the impact of the Trandoshan's bolt.

Jag pivoted, still holding Barlo as a shield, and scanned the area. Kyp was in the act of slashing through the body of a bounty hunter; Saba was rising from the corpse of another. Danger past, he glanced down at the body he held, and was shocked to see the man still alive. With a cold eye, he assessed the wounds inflicted on the human; not even bacta could save him now. He dropped him to the ground and turned to walk away.

"Wait." The call was faint, weak; but distinct. "Please."

He turned back to the man on the ground, wary of a trap. "What?"

"Finish it."

"What?"

"Finish it. Please." He shifted, and let out a gasp of agony. "It'll take me some time to die, and it hurts."

Jag studied him carefully. "Why should I?"

The man tried to shrug, and failed. His drawling, soft accent gone, he said, "I promised Zekk I'd blow your head off. Just obeying the golden rule…do unto others…"

"That's no reason."

"Well kriff, what do you expect? I'm dying and I don't feel like stretching it out."

He leveled the blaster. "You sure?"

Barlo looked up at him, resolute. "Yeah, I'm sure."

Jag started to squeeze the trigger, but stopped and lowered the pistol when the man on the ground said, "Funny, eh? I feel like apologizing to Zekk, even though I'm the one dying and he's safe somewhere else."

"You can apologize to him later, _kar'laka_." Jag raised the pistol again, sighting down the barrel at the bounty hunter. "Wherever you're going, he'll be along shortly."

He pulled the trigger.


End file.
